


Don't Be Afraid

by EnthusiasticFish



Series: The Master Killer [2]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mystery, Serial Killers, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-25
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 64,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28969434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnthusiasticFish/pseuds/EnthusiasticFish
Summary: This story picks up exactly where the last one left off. Another serial killer has appeared out of the woodwork and this time, he appears to be focused on Tim himself. Tim hasn't really recovered from his problems in the last story and now, his already-battered psyche has to withstand another assault. The others are worried about him but they don't know how worried they really need to be. The other NCIS team (Balboa, Torrance and Jensen) are present as they were in the previous story. This is a serial killer story and it does get a little gruesome at times.
Series: The Master Killer [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2121030
Kudos: 8





	1. Chapter 1

**Don't Be Afraid  
** by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

_What scares you, Agent McGee?_

The words bored into his brain. For Tim, everything else seemed to stop. His mind couldn't break away from a horrifying thought that was beginning to form. The almost normal feeling he'd had was gone. Vanished as if it had never been at all. What was left was a growing horror that there was another serial killer who had now fixated on Tim himself.

Tony had left to tell Vance that it might not be over yet, but Tim couldn't get himself to follow. He just stood there, by his desk, the letter in his hand. He read it again.

_Ahrendson was only the first student. Can you find the master? What scares you, Agent McGee?_

_A is for Acrophobia  
_ _The Wordsmith_

What was he going to do?

"What scares me?" he asked, softly.

_That this is all my fault._

"McGee."

He kept reading and rereading that question.

_What scares you?_

"McGee. Tim!"

Someone was shaking him. He looked up and saw Jensen looking at him with concern.

"What's going on?"

Tim held out the letter. Jensen took it with a furrowed brow. But that confusion didn't last long. He looked up again.

"Where did this come from?"

Tim just shook his head. For some reason, he couldn't make himself say anything. He just stood there.

"Are you okay?"

He shook his head again. Then, there was someone behind him.

"Where did this come from?" Jensen asked again, but this time, he wasn't looking at Tim.

"The mail," Tony said, grimly. "Where's the envelope, Tim?"

_What scares you, Agent McGee?_

That sentence hammered in his brain over and over again.

"Tim! Snap out of it!"

Then, Tony met Tim's gaze and his expression changed. He grabbed Tim by the arm and pulled him out of the bullpen.

"Get the envelope down to Abby, could you, Will?" he asked.

"Sure."

"Thanks."

Tim heard all that going on around him, but really, all he could think about was that one sentence.

_What scares you, Agent McGee?_

It was suddenly very quiet and he was being pushed down onto a chair.

"Tim, come on. Talk to me. You're freaking me out."

"This... It'll be about me, Tony," Tim whispered. "If anyone else dies..."

"No! No, you can't start doing that to yourself. If this guy is legitimate, you need to be able to think and work and you can't if you're blaming yourself!"

"Tony, he's going to be using me. Anyone he wants to kill, it's going to be about me."

"Then, we just need to stop him before he can do it. Come on, man. You _know_ this kind of thing. He wants to throw you off, get you off balance, keep you from thinking straight. Don't _let_ him! Vance is calling Fornell over. We're going to see if we can hit the ground running. You need to get through this."

Tim tried to listen to him, tried to get away from the panic that was setting his brain on fire.

"Now, he started with acrophobia. Fear of heights, right?"

Tim nodded.

"We know that you're scared of heights."

Tim nodded.

"Okay. Maybe that means it's all going to be about your fears and not about an alphabet again. What else?"

"Uh... I don't..."

"Get your mind in gear, Tim. What else?"

"Taking tests... uh... seasickness and everything... um...maggots. I don't know..."

"He's calling himself the Wordsmith. Does that mean anything special?"

"Making words? Using words? Maybe... Uh... Maybe he's a librarian."

"Ahrendson was a librarian."

"Yeah. He was."

"Okay. Someplace we can start. Focus on getting this guy, not on the idea that it might be your fault. It's not. Do _not_ start thinking it is, Tim. You hear me?"

Tim nodded.

"You ready to get to work, then?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"Good. Let's go."

Tim took a deep breath and nodded. He heard Tony, but he didn't quite believe him.

This was going to be all about him, and he knew it.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony could see that this was going to be bad for Tim if this guy started trying to get at him by killing people based on his own fears. And actually, Tony was irritated that he'd spent all that time trying to get Tim through the guilt he felt about Ahrendson, only to have someone else start hammering on Tim's already-battered psyche.

Still, Tim did go and sit down at his computer. He stared at the screen for a few seconds and then took a deep breath and started typing. Tony walked over, hoping to give Tim some encouragement, get his mind focused on the right things.

"What are you thinking?" Tony asked.

"Ahrendson was trained as a librarian," Tim said, his voice determinedly calm. "It looked like he first met Amy Davis at a library. Maybe he met this...guy there, too."

"Makes sense."

"I'm checking to see if we can find out where he had library cards and where he worked."

"We can have Fornell's people do some checking on the librarian in South Carolina."

Tim nodded, but Tony could see that Tim's mind was only half on the work he was doing.

"Tim."

Tim just shook his head, and Tony got that he wasn't supposed to say anything more. Maybe that was the best option, given that Tim had shown, in the worst way, that he wasn't quite over his guilt from the last case. If Gibbs was back to normal, it would be easier because Tim would see, every day, that something was just the way it had been, but he wasn't. The lye had almost killed Gibbs and he wasn't through recovering yet, for all his impatience and resistance to taking the time he needed.

Tony went back to his own desk and sat down, thinking about whether or not there was anything he could do right at this moment. Out of a need to be _doing_ , not just sitting, he pulled up the file on the Ahrendson case and started looking through the information they had about Ahrendson. If he was truly a student of this man, this Wordsmith, then, there should be something in Ahrendson's file that would give them direction. Ahrendson was dead, but his information remained.

Paul Ahrendson had no family. He had been an only child. His parents were dead. He never married. He had been the quintessential loner. No one really considered him a friend. This would be difficult to figure out.

_...unless this guy really does plan on killing someone._

Tony hated thinking it, but it was true. If they couldn't find a clue from Ahrendson, they would have to wait until the Wordsmith demonstrated his sincerity by committing murder. The worst of it was that he had tracked in on Tim. Why? They hadn't said anything to the press about Tim being the one who figured things out. Tim hadn't wanted that fame and no one had insisted on giving it to him. Ahrendson had clearly known about Tim.

_And that means that he must have passed on the information to his mentor...if that's what this Wordsmith actually is._

"Tim, do we have all the records from Ahrendson's phone and computer?"

There was no response. Tony looked over and Tim was staring at the computer with a glazed look. He was _not_ working.

"Tim!"

Tim jumped and looked at him.

"What?"

"Do we have all the FBI records of Ahrendson's phone and computer?"

Tim shrugged.

"This could be important, Tim! Focus!"

"Remember that Ahrendson wasn't in his apartment for the three months he was on his killing spree. He might have been before that, but not after."

"Oh, yeah. Well, do we have them anyway?"

"We should. Why?"

"Because if this Wordsmith isn't just blowing smoke, how did he know about you? You haven't been in the news."

"You think Ahrendson must have told him."

"Yeah."

"Then, it wouldn't be on his home computer anyway _or_ his phone from his apartment."

"True, but maybe he contacted him about this stuff before."

"The FBI never found anything," Tim said, dully. "You know that they'd be watching for any sign of planning."

"The FBI can make mistakes."

"Sure, but that doesn't mean they did."

"Okay, Tim, I know you're freaked out about this, but you need to stop it. The best way to get over it is by finding this guy. The sooner we do that, the sooner this can be done."

And suddenly, Tim demonstrated just how _not_ over this he really was. He stood up and started shouting, ignoring all the looks from the people in the bullpen.

"And how are we going to do that, Tony? How? We know nothing about him! Even when we knew who Ahrendson was, we didn't find him! The only reason we did is because he messed up! That's it! This is the master, not the student! How are we going to stop him when we don't know anything about him? All we know is that if there's another victim it's because of me! Don't tell me that I have to get over it!"

There was a kind of stunned silence at the end of Tim's rant. Tim stood there, breathing heavily as if he'd just finished running a race. Everyone was staring at Tim. Tony was halfway out of his chair, unsure of what to do or say to calm Tim down.

And then, Tim looked around at all the people staring at him before walking out of the bullpen. Tony quickly stood up and followed Tim out. He saw Tim headed for the stairs.

"Tim, wait!"

Tim didn't. He kept walking, but he wasn't running. So it wasn't like he didn't know that Tony could keep up. Tony decided to take that as an indication that he didn't mind being followed.

Tim walked down to the first floor and then walked out of the building, across the street to Willard Park. He sat down on a bench and covered his head with his hands.

Tony walked over and sat down beside him. He waited for a few minutes while Tim sat in silence.

"Tim?" he asked.

"You know what scares me, Tony?" Tim asked softly.

"What?"

"That this is all my fault. No matter what else. I'm afraid that this is all my fault."

"It's not."

"It doesn't matter what you say, Tony. Fears don't have to be rational. Half the time, the reason they're fears is _because_ you're irrational about them."

"So what you're saying is..."

Tim stared at his hands. "That I'm going to be afraid of this no matter what anyone says. He asks what scares me and that's what scares me. I'd face all the rest of it if I didn't have to face this."

Tony suddenly looked around. Was anyone around close enough to hear? He saw Jimmy who waved briefly and looked a little concerned. Tony just waved back. Otherwise, the park appeared empty. Good. Last thing they needed would be for the would-be serial killer to hear Tim confessing what his worst fear was.

"Can you at least promise me that you won't try drinking your worries away again?" Tony asked, wondering when they'd stepped into a parallel universe where _Tim_ was the one who might overdo it.

Tim smiled at the ground. "I'd have to drink myself into an alcoholic coma to get rid of this."

"Does that mean you'll promise?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Good. Okay. I'll accept that you're going to be stressed about this. I'll accept that, but I need you to keep it together enough to work on it. Can you?"

And if Tony was honest with himself, he doubted whether that was the case. What was worse was the expression on Tim's face that said he was thinking the same thing.

"I don't know, Tony. I'd say that you should just take me off the case, but I don't think that'll be possible. Whether you like it or not, this guy has already made it about me. Whether I'm working on it or not, I'm part of it."

That was unfortunately true. No matter what they did, if this Wordsmith had decided to focus on Tim, then, they had no option but to accept it.

"Can you at least _try_?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Come on, let's go back in."

Tim sighed. "I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"I know. Come on." Tony stood up, hoping that Tim would follow suit.

Thankfully, Tim did.

"What are you going to tell Gibbs?" he asked.

Tony raised an eyebrow.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he's going to be around again. He's not going to want to be kept out of it but..." Tim trailed off without completing the thought.

"Let's worry about that when we have to. I'm not lying to him, McGee. And I don't see how you could possibly keep this from him anyway."

"I know."

Whatever was going through Tim's head, he clearly wasn't going to share it at the moment.

But Tony would take what he could get. The initial shock seemed to be ebbing a little bit and Tim was _attempting_ to think about it rationally. He was failing, but he was trying. They walked back into the building together and returned to the bullpen. There were looks their way, but Tony just met the curious gazes until everyone else got back to work.

Well, _almost_ everyone.

Jensen came over as soon as Tim sat down at his desk. Tony knew that they were friends, but Jensen could be more abrasive than Tim might need right now.

"Tim, are you all right?" Jensen asked.

Tim looked up at him and shook his head.

"No, I'm not, and I won't be until we catch this guy, so maybe you could do me a favor and get everyone to _not_ ask me that question? Just tell them that the answer will be no for the foreseeable future."

Jensen smiled. "I can try."

"Thanks."

Then, showing a surprising amount of tact, Jensen just patted Tim on the shoulder and walked over to Tony. He leaned over Tony's desk and spoke in a low voice.

"Anything I can do?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"If there is let me know. I don't like seeing Tim like this."

"Neither do I."

Jensen nodded and headed back to his own desk. Tony stood up and saw Jensen speaking to Balboa. They were both glancing over toward Tim's desk so Tony guessed that he was bringing Balboa up to speed and relaying Tim's request. Well, everyone would know about this within an hour if they didn't already. It might be better that way. Maybe it would give Tim the support he definitely needed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The elevator dinged and Fornell and Sacks arrived. Tony grimaced. Would Tim be able to keep it together in front of Fornell? He knew that Fornell could be understanding, but he could also be a little tactless and brusque, and with Tim's current mental state, it might lead to another embarrassing meltdown which would then lead to the FBI questioning NCIS competence.

"Well, DiNozzo, I thought you'd be tired of us," Fornell said.

"I'd definitely prefer to have Gibbs here to deal with the FBI," Tony said, trying to keep things as light as they could be in the situation. "But we have to give you guys something to do."

"Right. Well, what's going on, now? Director Vance said something about a copycat?"

"Not a copycat. The original," Tim said softly. "We already had the copycat."

Fornell looked over at Tim and Tony saw an expression of concern that was quickly hidden. He looked back at Tony, asking a silent question. Tony just shrugged. No way to convey what was going on without talking about it.

"Ahrendson was a copycat? Who was he copying?" Sacks asked.

Tony handed over a copy of the letter Tim had received and watched as both Sacks and Fornell read it. Then, Tony saw the comprehension on Fornell's face as he put everything together.

"You sure this isn't just someone trying to get his fifteen minutes of fame?" Sacks asked. "We had a few people like that after the story first broke."

"How would he know about me, though?" Tim asked, still in that soft voice. "I wasn't in any of the stories."

"Point. So what's next?"

"Next is we have a meeting with Vance to see what happens next."

"When's Gibbs getting back?"

"Should have been today, but his doctor nixed that idea. Said he'd only be making things worse by pushing it. Next week."

Fornell nodded.

"Well, let's go, then."

Tony started to follow Fornell and Sacks, but then, Fornell stopped.

"You joining us, Agent McGee?" he asked.

Tim looked like he'd rather do anything else other than join them, but he nodded.

"You're going to be a part of it whether you like it or not. Better that you're in on the beginning," Fornell said.

"Yeah," Tim said.

The four of them headed for Vance's office. When they got there, Pamela sent them right in, and Vance's eyes quickly settled on Tim and then moved to Tony.

"Agent DiNozzo, I understand that Agent Gibbs isn't back yet?"

"Nope. Not yet. Next week, we're hoping."

"All right. Then, since you're so short-handed, I'd like Agent Balboa to be in on this as well, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

Tim said nothing.

Vance got on the phone and called Balboa up.

"Have a seat."

Everyone sat down and waited for a couple of minutes until Balboa arrived.

"All right, now that Agent Balboa is here, let's see where we're at. Agent DiNozzo, until Agent Gibbs is back, that puts you in charge for the time being."

Tony nodded with a side glance at Tim who still was saying nothing.

"Agent McGee was sent a letter from someone claiming to be Ahrendson's teacher and daring us to find him." Tony hesitated and then continued. "He seems to have focused in on Agent McGee for some reason and, if this is legitimate, he might be planning on using Agent McGee's fears as a guide."

Tim's hands were clenched almost in a white-knuckle grip, but he still said nothing.

"And how much of a chance do you think there is that we really have a serial killer who _trained_ another serial killer?" Vance asked. "The scenario seems more far-fetched than someone just wanting to get attention."

"The two main problems with that, Director, is that Agent McGee was never presented as the one who figured things out. Clearly, Ahrendson knew about him, but it wasn't in the media at all. No one felt it would be a good idea to have one person presented as the one solving everything."

Vance nodded.

"And the second?"

"He knows that Tim is afraid of heights," Tony said.

It took a moment for significance of that to sink in and then Vance's eyes widened slightly.

"Agent McGee have you been talking with anyone lately, online or elsewhere?"

"Strangers, you mean?" Tim asked.

Vance nodded.

"No, sir. I don't talk about myself like that online, and I haven't made a habit of talking to new people in the last little while."

Tony was impressed that Tim almost managed to sound calm and professional. Not quite, but almost.

"Meaning that this person would have had to be watching you quite extensively to know that kind of information."

Tim nodded.

"Did you ever have any inkling of that?"

"No, sir."

"Agent Fornell, what do you think?"

"Just being informed about this, I can't say for certain, but I'd tend to agree with Agent DiNozzo. If this guy has tracked in on Agent McGee, then, I'd say we'd better be on the lookout for someone being thrown off a roof."

Tim closed his eyes for a moment and Tony knew that he was working hard to keep himself in control.

"And how do we do that? Do we have _any_ clues as to who this person might be?" Vance asked.

"Not right now," Tony admitted. "But if he's really seeing himself as some kind of serial killing teacher, then, he would have been in contact with Ahrendson."

"Agent Fornell?"

"We didn't have any indication of that, but we weren't looking for it, either. We'll get started on that right away."

"We never found out where he was holing up in D.C., either," Sacks said. "Ahrendson would have had to have somewhere he was staying, and it couldn't have just been in that building where he died."

Fornell nodded. "Well, we'll work on Ahrendson and see if we can chase anything down. We'll also get one of our profilers working on this new letter. There's not much to it, but it's a start."

"Agent DiNozzo?"

"We'll get working on the letter, too. Abby's already seeing if she can pull anything from it."

"Good. Is there anything else?"

They shook their heads.

"All right. Agent Balboa, you and your team are going to be working with Agent DiNozzo for the time being."

"That's fine. I know that Jensen is ready to help however he can, and Torrance will be back soon."

"Good. Agent DiNozzo, I want regular updates on how this is going."

"Yes, Director."

"All right. Agent McGee, I'd like to speak with you. The rest of you can go."

They all nodded and stood. As they filed out, Tony hesitated and turned back.

"I'd like to speak to him alone, Agent DiNozzo."

"Understood."

Tony left. When he got out to the balcony, Balboa stopped him.

"Is Tim going to be able to handle this?" Balboa asked. "Will told me what he said."

"I don't know."

"I didn't realize he was so shaky after Ahrendson. Did you?"

"Yeah, but he _was_ working through it. He just didn't have enough time before something else came up."

"Was he actually talking to anyone besides you, DiNozzo?" Fornell asked.

Tony turned and looked at him. He hadn't realized that Fornell and Sacks had lingered.

"Not after the required debriefing."

"Why not?"

"Because he seemed to be doing okay," Tony said.

"Did he really? Because what I was seeing was not someone who was okay. It was someone who didn't think he could tolerate another blow."

"Well, how many people get targeted by two different serial killers, Fornell?" Tony asked, a little stung. "Ahrendson put all the responsibility on him, and now, this new guy is doing the same thing!"

"All the more reason for him to be _talking_ to someone," Sacks said. "If it's that hard, he shouldn't be just working through it on his own."

"He wasn't!"

Sacks rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'm sure you're a qualified therapist, DiNozzo. What was your degree in? Physical Education?"

"What was yours, Sacks? Does the FBI even require a degree?"

"Knock it off, you two," Balboa said. "This is not what we need. Can you guys please act like rational adults?"

"Do you want to keep sniping at each other or try to catch a serial killer?" Fornell asked. "I'd rather stop wasting my time with you and maybe figure something out before he can kill even once. Got it?"

Tony felt a little embarrassed that he'd been pulled into the argument in the first place, but Sacks always seemed able to push his buttons. He wasn't sure any amount of time was enough to get rid of the mutual animosity.

"I'm going to go and check with Abby," Balboa said. "You coming, Tony?"

"No. I'm going to wait for Tim."

"Okay."

"We'll head back to the FBI. I need to make a report and get some people moving," Fornell said. "Come on, Sacks."

Sacks just nodded and followed him out. If he felt any embarrassment, he didn't show it. Once they were gone, Balboa turned back to Tony.

"Insults aside, Tony. They're probably right about Tim. If he's this shaky, he probably needs the extra help."

Tony nodded. Balboa patted him on the arm and then walked away.

Alone, he sighed. Maybe they were right, but he knew that Tim really had been getting better. If it hadn't been for this, he probably would have been fine in another few weeks.

_Or maybe I was completely wrong and it was inevitable._

He sighed again and leaned against the balcony. The sooner Gibbs was back, the better.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim waited for Vance to say what he wanted. He figured he would get a reprimand for shouting at Tony and, quite frankly, he knew he deserved it. He was glad he could say that he'd apologized for it because he really wasn't mad at Tony. He was just generally upset.

"Agent McGee, I understand that you shouted at Agent DiNozzo."

"Yeah. I already apologized to him."

"Good. Why did you?"

Tim didn't meet Vance's gaze.

"Because I lost my temper. I was upset and I let it out on Tony."

"Let what out?"

"The fact that this is going to be about me."

"No, Agent McGee. It's not. It's about whoever sent this letter to you."

Tim looked up. "No, Director. He's _made_ it about me. He's focused on me. He wants _me_ to find him, but I couldn't find Ahrendson! He's the one who messed up. I wasn't the one who found him. I'm not trained to deal with stuff like this, with a serial killer. It's way beyond what I know. If it's going to depend on me... I'll fail."

Vance walked over and sat down.

"Agent McGee, whether he's decided you should find him or not, you don't have to do it. You'll hardly be taking it on alone."

"I know, but it doesn't seem to matter."

"Are you saying you shouldn't be assigned to the case?"

Tim smiled painfully. "Actually, if I thought there was really an option, I would ask you to take me off the case. I'm compromised, Director. I know it. Everyone does, but if he's actually decided that I'm the important person, I don't really have a choice but to be involved."

Vance was quiet for a few seconds. Tim just waited. He felt humiliated at having to admit how badly he'd been affected, but it wouldn't help anyone if he tried to pretend that everything was just fine when it very obviously wasn't fine. He couldn't believe that just a couple of hours ago he'd been thinking that things were looking up.

Finally, Vance took a breath and leaned forward. "Agent McGee, you're right that you probably can't remove yourself from this situation, but if you need help, you need help, and I want you to get the help you need to deal with it. If you feel it would be useful to talk to a psychiatrist, it will be covered. If you think you'll be able to deal with it with help from your colleagues, that's fine, but ask for the help you need."

Tim nodded. "Okay."

"Do you want to meet with someone?"

"No. Not now. I'll see how it goes."

"All right, but remember that this isn't your fault. No matter how much this person might be focusing on you, it's still not your fault."

"Yes, Director. I'll try to remember that," Tim said, honestly. He knew it wouldn't help, but he could acknowledge that Vance was likely right.

"All right. For now, you can go."

"Thanks."

Tim stood up and walked out of Vance's office, wishing that he could just stay in there and stave off the moment when he had to deal with a potential serial killer using him as inspiration.

He wasn't surprised to see Tony waiting for him.

"I'm not in trouble," Tim said, before Tony could ask anything. "Vance was just seeing how I was doing since it's obvious that I'm not doing great."

"And?"

Tim decided not to mention Vance's suggestion that he talk to someone.

"And I'm not going to be great, Tony. I'm not even going to be okay. So instead of worrying about that, let's just see if we can find anything," Tim said, glad that he could at least speak like a rational adult instead of the quivering weakling he currently felt like.

"Have you thought about talking to someone?"

Tim raised an eyebrow.

"Hey, even just Ducky. Maybe he could give you some tips on how to deal with it while the case is going on. And maybe we'll luck out and it's all bark and no bite."

"What are the odds of that?" Tim asked.

"Don't know. But no one is dead yet."

"That we know of," Tim said. "I just got the letter a couple of hours ago. It's way too soon to say that."

"Tim, will you at least _consider_ talking to Ducky?"

"Yeah, I'll consider it."

"Good. Then, let's get some work done."

Tim nodded and followed Tony down the stairs. It wasn't even that he didn't know that he could use something, but he just didn't think any of it would do any good with this hanging over his head. The question had been telling.

_What scares you, Agent McGee?_

Too many things to count at the moment, but there was one looming question in Tim's mind.

Who would die first.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Two days passed without a peep of anything that might resemble the threat of a new serial killer. Nothing had turned up in the search so far, but everyone started to relax, just a little bit, and hoped that someone had been blowing off steam, that it wasn't real.

But it couldn't last.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Messy one," Detective Nolan said, crouching down by the body.

"Doesn't anything get to you, Nate?" Detective Lee asked.

"Nope. Either nothing does or everything does. Considering what I'm looking at right here, I'd rather have nothing get to me."

Lee rolled his eyes and then grimaced. He didn't like jumpers. It was the worst kind of murder because killing oneself meant there was tragedy all around because there was no reason for it. At least in a regular homicide you could get the satisfaction of catching the scum who did it.

"Who saw it?" Nolan asked.

Lee gestured to a shaken man standing to the side.

"Guy over there. Looks like he isn't as stoic as you."

"Doesn't have to be. He's not a cop," Nolan said and got to his feet. He walked over to the man standing by cop car. "What's your name?" he asked.

"Jason..."

"Jason what?"

"Jason Benton," he said. Then, he swore and closed his eyes.

Nolan looked back and saw the M.E. beginning to take care of business. He glanced at Lee who shifted position just slightly. Even if Nolan was a bit callous when it came to crime victims, he treated the living well, and he knew that there was no reason for Jason to have to see anything more than he'd already seen.

"Don't look over there. Look at me," Nolan said. "Look at me, Mr. Benton."

Jason open his eyes and looked at him.

"I'd just dropped my son off at his friend's house. Man, what if I'd been slower? What if _he_ saw this?"

"What _did_ you see?"

"I heard a scream and I looked up and it was so fast. This guy just was falling, but he was screaming all the way down."

"You didn't see him go off the roof?"

"No. No, I didn't. I just saw him hit the ground." Jason swore again.

"Nolan, you'll want to see this," the M.E. said.

"Finish up, Lee."

"Will do."

Lee continued the interview, but he was listening to Nolan and the M.E. with half an ear.

"What did you do after that?"

"I called you guys. That's what I did. I didn't know what else to do. Should I have checked him? Could he have been alive when he hit? I mean... it was so far that he fell... But..."

Instantly, Lee calmed Jason down. No sense in him starting to think that he could have saved him. Was it possible that the man had been alive when he hit the ground? Sure, but it was such a remote possibility that there was no point in acknowledging it, particularly not to a guy who was obviously more than a little shocked by what he'd witnessed. Some people could hide how they felt. This man was not one of those people.

"No. There was nothing you could have done, Mr. Benton. You did the only thing you could have done and that's call us. Don't start thinking that way. We'd like you to come into the station and talk a little more, give an official statement." _Talk to a shrink, maybe,_ Lee added to himself. "Could you do that?"

"Yeah. I already called my work."

"Okay. Just stick around here for a bit and someone will take you to the precinct. Is that all right with you?"

"Yeah."

"Lee, get over here!" Nolan called.

"Just hang tight, Mr. Benton. Feel free to call your family...and you don't need to look over at the scene. You've seen enough."

"To last a lifetime."

Lee smiled sympathetically and then hurried back to the body. To his surprise, Nolan was holding out a piece of paper.

"What's this?"

"Read it. This probably wasn't a jumper."

"Huh?"

"Read it, Lee," Nolan said, impatiently.

"Okay, okay." He put on some gloves, took the paper and read it.

_How scared do you think he was, Agent McGee? What scares you?_

"Agent McGee? Who's that?" Lee asked.

"Don't know. But we're not talking about this to the media. Got it?"

"Hey, I don't talk to those nosy busybodies at all if I can help it. All they do is make things worse."

Lee knew he sounded bitter, but he'd been stabbed in the back by a reporter wanting to make a name for himself at the beginning of his career and he still carried a major chip on his shoulder. Most of the reporters in the area knew better than to try and get a statement from him.

Nolan smiled a bit at that.

"Unless this guy is Agent McGee, someone left a message on him. That means that it's personal."

"Yeah. I don't like personal cases," Lee said.

"I don't, either. They're more messy than this guy is."

"Remind me again why your wife left you?" Lee asked as they stood up.

Nolan smiled. "She said I didn't feel anything, and that was ten years ago. You don't need to keep bringing it up."

"Just checking."

"Feel everything or nothing, Lee. You decide."

Whatever the right answer was, Lee agreed with Nolan on one thing.

This was going to be messy.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tony, look," Tim said, in a whisper, pointing at the TV.

Tony looked and then turned up the volume.

"– _ar police aren't saying who the victim was or what happened. All we know is that a person fell off the roof of the Steel Condominiums building in Silver Spring. We'll bring you more information on this developing story as it becomes available. This is Matthias Terreton, ZNN."_

Tim sat down at his desk before his knees could buckle. He tried to focus on what Tony was saying, but really, all he could do was stare at the TV as the camera showed police walking around a roped-off area. There was no body visible at this point and a huge crowd had built up with people gawking at the tragedy.

...at the murder.

"Tim! Snap out of it!"

Tim blinked and tore his eyes away from the TV. Tony was leaning over him in concern.

"He was killed," Tim said.

"We don't know that yet. I'm going to call Metro and see if they'll tell us anything. Then, I'm going to call Fornell, although he might have seen it, too. Don't panic until you have to."

Tim managed to laugh, but he knew it sounded fake. ...because it was.

"Yeah. Right."

How else would this Wordsmith kill? Tim had his share of fears, but not all of them would lend themselves to murder. He was scared of taking tests. How would that kill someone?

_Ahrendson found a way to kill someone that could be interpreted as boredom. If you're twisted enough, you can think of anything._

"Yes, this is Agent DiNozzo with NCIS. I need to get some information about the death in Silver Spring. Yes, the one with a victim falling off a building. Could you connect me to the detective in charge, please?"

Tim was listening only vaguely to Tony's conversation on the phone. And then, he wasn't listening at all because ZNN had got hold of something related to the story.

Some sicko had recorded the fall on his phone and then posted it on social media. The video had been pulled but that didn't stop ZNN from showing it. It was from a distance and it didn't show the entire fall, but they showed it in slow motion, letting the viewing audience see the man plummeting to his death, although it didn't show the final impact. It didn't matter. It was very obvious what had happened and...

Tim suddenly felt very sick. He swore and got to his feet, making a run for the men's room. He crashed into a stall and threw up, only barely making it. Then, he knelt at the toilet, shaking, trying to get a hold of himself. At least, he had known that Ahrendson had only glommed onto him by accident. This was intentional.

He swore again and closed his eyes, not bothering to stand up.

He heard the door to the men's room open and he figured it was Tony coming to check on him.

"Don't ask, Tony," he said.

"Timothy, Anthony called me up to speak to you."

Tim laughed a little. "It won't help, Ducky. Nothing is going to help."

"Nevertheless, would you humor me?"

Tim reached out and flushed the toilet. Then, he took a shaky breath and turned to face Ducky.

"Okay."

Ducky held out a hand, smiling encouragingly. Tim managed to smile a little bit in reply and took his hand. Ducky put an arm around his shoulders and led him out of the men's room and into a conference room.

Tim sat down and ran his hands through his hair.

"I know, Ducky. I know all the right answers, but none of them matter. I don't know why they don't, but they don't."

"What are all the right answers?"

"It's not my fault that this guy is focused on me. It's not my fault that I couldn't figure out what Ahrendson was doing sooner. It's not my fault that those people died, that this guy died. I know that, but it doesn't matter."

"Why doesn't it matter?" Ducky asked gently.

Tim didn't look up.

"Why, Timothy?"

"Because I don't really believe it."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. Logically, I know that it's right, but I can't be logical right now. Not about this. Did Tony tell you about how I tried to drink myself into a stupor a few weeks ago?"

"No, he didn't."

"Yeah. I just couldn't stop thinking about the case and so I went to a bar. Tony says that I was stupid drunk when he found me. I don't think I was, but I almost was. All I wanted was to stop thinking about it. I had started feeling better. I really had, but..."

"...but what?"

Tim finally looked up.

"Ducky, any person who dies is going to die because of something _I'm_ afraid of."

"Not _because_ of, Timothy. If you're correct about this man who died, then, it's not because of you. It's because of the killer. The method chosen does not make it your fault in any way."

"This is why there's no point in talking to anyone," Tim said, shaking his head. "I _know_ you're right, but it doesn't make any difference. I still feel the same way."

"I think that there _is_ a point, Timothy. It might take some time, but I think it will help if you let it," Ducky said.

Tim shook his head again.

"The only thing that will make this better is if I'm wrong and this man wasn't killed or if we catch the killer. That's it. Nothing else will make me feel any better, Ducky," Tim said. He stood up. "Thanks for trying, but there's no point."

He walked out of the conference room and tried to get himself in control long enough to find out that he was right. Tony was just hanging up the phone and his expression was grave.

"Well?" Tim asked.

"You sure you want to know?" Tony asked.

"Yeah."

"There was a note in the guy's pocket."

"And?"

"And it mentioned you."

Tim felt as though his heart had plummeted to his shoes.

"Mentioned me, how?"

"Tim."

"Tony. It won't go away if you don't tell me. I'll bet that Metro will want to talk to me, won't they?"

"Yeah. They're on their way over."

"Then, what's the point in trying to keep it from me? Maybe I can not disgrace NCIS if I have a chance to hear it first."

Tony sighed. "You won't disgrace NCIS."

"Yeah, right. Tell me, Tony."

Tony handed Tim a piece of paper. It had a copy of a very short message.

"'How scared do you think he was, Agent McGee? What scares you?'" Tim swallowed, trying not to feel sick again. "Well, I was right. It's a murder. It's about me."

He dropped the paper on Tony's desk, walked to his own desk and sat down. He closed his eyes for a few seconds and then took a breath and let it out slowly.

Lead in his stomach and a growing pain just behind his left eyeball. Tim felt so unstable at the moment that the littlest thing would likely cause another meltdown. It was embarrassing that he was like this. He knew that he shouldn't be like this, but he just couldn't seem to find any equilibrium.

For now, he just focused on trying to make himself _look_ professional. He didn't know if anyone at Metro still remembered him from the whole incident with Benedict and Archer, but the last thing he needed was to have things like that poking at him in addition.

The present was plenty bad enough without adding the past into it.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Ever been to the Yard, Lee?" Nolan asked as they walked up to the entrance of the Forge building.

"Don't think so," Lee said. "Not really a boat fan and, besides that ship over there, what is there to see?"

"Cannons, I guess," Nolan said. "Never had to do anything with NCIS before. You?"

"Nope."

They went in and were sent up in the elevator to the second floor.

"Huh. Orange walls," Lee said. "Never would have guessed a government building would have orange walls. I see them more as taupe sort of people."

"Detective Nolan?"

Their attention was taken from the walls.

"You're Agent DiNozzo?" Nolan asked.

"Yeah."

They quickly shook hands.

"So where's this Agent McGee?" Lee asked.

"I'm right here."

They both turned and got their first glimpse of the apparent reason for their victim being dead. Lee didn't know what Nolan was thinking, but _he_ was thinking that this guy looked pretty shaky for a supposedly-seasoned federal agent.

"Let's go into a conference room and I'll bring you up to speed," Tony said, a little too quickly. "And hopefully, you can do the same."

"Sure."

They went into a conference room and sat down.

"You want to start or should we, Agent DiNozzo?" Nolan asked.

"You can start."

"All right. A few hours ago, we got a report of a man who fell off a roof. We figured a suicide, but when our M.E. was checking the body, he found a piece of paper in one of the pockets. We pulled it out and it was the one I sent you, Agent DiNozzo."

Tony just nodded neutrally.

"We had a couple of witnesses, but no one saw the beginning of the fall. It was only when we found the note that we suspected murder instead," Lee added.

"Our M.E. is still doing the autopsy, and we don't have an I.D. as yet. It was a head-first landing and he didn't have a wallet."

Lee noticed that Tim looked distinctly ill.

"You all right, Agent MeGee?" he asked.

"I'm fine," he said, clearly lying.

Tony also looked a little worried but neither of them explained. Lee glanced at Nolan who just shrugged.

"Now, I have a question for you, Agent DiNozzo," Nolan said.

"Shoot," Tony said.

"What's going on? You were pretty cagey over the phone, Agent DiNozzo, and Agent McGee here looks like he's at a funeral. Maybe his own. What's the deal?"

"What's going on is a possible serial killer," Tony said, seriously. "And he's decided to focus his attention on Agent McGee."

"I'm scared of heights," Tim said, his voice very soft.

"He asked what scares you," Lee said, beginning to understand.

Tim just nodded.

"Why does this mean a serial killer? Given how irritating the media is in their never-ending quest to keep people watching their shows 24/7 and to be upset or outraged about _something_ at all times, you wouldn't bandy that word around without a reason."

"Well, you've shared with us," Tony said. "We'll do the same. Tim, get the first letter."

Tim nodded and walked out.

"What's wrong with him?" Lee asked.

"We didn't share this with the media, but Tim became the focus of Paul Ahrendson by the end of his killing spree. It got to him."

"Should he be working if it did?" Lee asked.

"What choice does he have, Lee?" Nolan said. "This psycho's decided that Agent McGee is the one who matters. He's involved."

"That's how we're thinking, too."

"Besides...if this is really a serial killer, who's to say that he might not decide to make Agent McGee one of his victims?"

Tony just nodded as the door opened and Tim came back in. He sat down and slid the letter across the table.

"This came about three days ago," Tim said. "The envelope was addressed to me. No return address."

"Figures," Nolan said as he read the short message. "The master. So he's claiming to be the one with experience?"

"Looks like it," Tim said.

"Why would he be so obsessed with what scares you, Agent McGee?"

"I have no idea," Tim said.

"We have to work on the assumption that he's genuine, especially now that we have a definite death linked to him."

"To me, you mean," Tim said. "The death is linked to me."

He had it bad, Lee could see. Tim wasn't taking this well at _all_.

"The first student. Does that mean there are others?" Nolan asked, supposedly ignoring Tim completely.

"I guess it's possible, but it could also just mean that he _intends_ to have other students if we don't catch him," Tony said.

"True, and that's more likely anyway. Honestly, the idea that he sees himself as some kind of serial killer instructor is ludicrous, but there's enough scum out there that all he'd have to do is find the right person." Nolan shook his head. "Some people have way too much time on their hands."

Tony raised an eyebrow and Lee could see what he was thinking. It was what everyone thought after talking to Nolan for any length of time.

"I guess that's one way of looking at it."

Nolan smiled slightly. "Well, we'll keep on with our investigation. I assume you want to know what we find out?"

"Absolutely. The FBI is also involved and you might hear from them, too."

"Of course. They couldn't keep their fingers out of muck this deep. Well, we'll be ready for _them_ , and we'll make sure that anything we find, you'll know, too."

"Thanks."

They all stood up and then Lee and Nolan left.

"How long would you say that Agent McGee has been an agent?" Lee asked. "He didn't seem to be able to take this in stride."

Nolan shrugged. "Feel everything or feel nothing, Lee. Some of us can't compartmentalize."

"Us? You mean you?"

"And Agent McGee, obviously. Some people can set things aside when they're troubling, but some can't."

For the first time, Lee actually paid attention to what Nolan was saying. He'd always taken Nolan's "feel everything or feel nothing" as a general truth, not something that applied just to him.

"You think he can take this?"

"Nope," Nolan said bluntly. "If it lasts a long time, it'll break him."

"How long do you think he has?"

"Don't know. Hope he makes it."

Lee had his doubts. This was just the beginning and what he'd seen was too serious to just go away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Not much to go on yet," Tim said.

"Nope, but it's just the beginning."

"Yeah."

"Tim, you can't..."

"Thanks for siccing Ducky on me, Tony, but it won't help. Nothing will except for this being over, okay? Nothing. If you want to keep me here and not out in the field until it's over, I don't care. Whatever you think is best, but I will _not_ be okay while this is going on. I can't be."

Tony got up and stopped Tim before he could walk out of the conference room.

"Tim, you _can_. You just need to let someone help you."

Tim shook his head.

"No. It's not about getting help. It's about what I can believe and I can't believe that this has nothing to do with me when it clearly has _everything_ to do with me."

He pulled his arm away.

"I'm going to see if I can find something. ...before someone else dies of what scares me."

He left the room. Tony stood there for a moment. He understood Tim's feelings as much as one could, but at the same time, he wished Tim could see that he really _could_ get help if he'd just allow for the possibility.

But Tim was right. The best thing right now would be to find this Wordsmith and stop him before anyone else died.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs felt like he was being driven slowly stir crazy. If it wasn't for the fact that he keenly felt how close he'd come to being dead instead of bored, he wouldn't have listened to his doctor and would have gone back this week like he'd originally planned, but his throat was still scratchy. He hadn't yet got back to normal. He tired easily. And he had to avoid pretty much all his usual drinks (coffee, bourbon) because they burned his sensitive throat.

And he hated every moment of it.

Right now, he was sitting in his kitchen, nursing a smoothie of all things, and deciding if he could stand going down to the basement and _just_ work on his boat.

There was a knock at the door and, even though he wouldn't admit it, Gibbs was glad for the interruption.

"Boss?"

"In here, Tony," he said.

Tony came in and flopped down on a chair. He looked discouraged.

"What's up?" Gibbs asked.

"You sure you want to know?"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"It really sucks, Gibbs."

"Tell me anyway."

"Three days ago, the day you were supposed to be back, Tim got a letter. No address."

Another eyebrow raise. Tony sighed.

"It was from someone who called himself the Wordsmith and is claiming that he was Ahrendson's teacher. He's basically dared us to find him and he's using the things Tim is afraid of. We weren't sure if there was anything to it. ...until today."

Gibbs took another drink of his smoothie.

"Guy went off a roof. There was a note in his pocket. To McGee."

Gibbs sighed.

"And, Boss, this is really getting to him. Tim's on the verge of completely freaking out about it. He's looking on this as something that's his fault...and it's just an extension of when he was saying that about with Ahrendson. I don't know what to do, Boss," Tony said, almost sounding plaintive. "I tried getting him to talk to me, to Ducky. Vance suggested that he talk to a professional. Tim is convinced that nothing will help except finding this guy. If he really does start killing more people, Tim is just going to get worse."

"He admits that he's having trouble?"

"Yeah. That's the thing. He knows that he's not really okay, but it's not like we can stop this guy from choosing Tim as his focus."

"Why him?"

"Probably because Ahrendson did the same thing at the end, tried to make Tim feel like it was all his fault, like he had to save everyone."

Gibbs nodded.

"What do I do?"

"Don't know."

Tony sighed again and slumped down in the chair.

"You're supposed to know, Boss."

Gibbs smiled slightly. "Not perfect, DiNozzo."

"I know. It's just... You haven't seen what this did to him before and what it's doing to him now. I don't like seeing it. Right now, we don't have any clues about who this guy is and who knows how long it'll take us to find him? What if we don't ever? Tim can't have this hanging over his head for that long."

"Maybe he'll work through it."

"I don't think he will, not this time."

Gibbs could see how worried Tony was, and he could admit that Tony might have a better handle on this than he did. Tim didn't really visit. He'd come while Gibbs was in the hospital, but since he'd been home, Tim wasn't comfortable with those kinds of visits. Gibbs didn't blame him. It was awkward at best, and Tim wasn't good with awkward. The others just ignored the awkwardness. So he could allow that he might not be up on what was wrong, but Tim was pretty resilient. Even when things got bad, he usually got through them. He had a couple of bad days and then he moved on, even if it was slow getting to that point.

"I'm back next week."

"Okay. It won't get put off again?"

"Better not be," Gibbs said darkly. He wasn't interested in his doctor telling him he had wait even longer to get back to doing what he wanted.

Tony smiled a little at that and then stood up.

"I'll be glad to have you back, Boss. Believe it or not, but I'm a little stressed out."

"I believe it."

Tony left the house, leaving Gibbs alone again. He could see the risks inherent in keeping Tim on the case in any capacity, but he could also see that Tim couldn't be kept from it, especially if this man really did intend to kill multiple people. If he sent Tim the message this time, that would likely continue and they could hardly keep that from him. It was going to be hard to keep it from the media. However, right now, with everyone investigating up to speed (hopefully), it might be simple enough to conceal Tim's identity so that he wouldn't have to deal with that in addition to everything else. They could keep him out of the field and just working in the building. No one would see the overwhelmed agent and wonder. Tim wouldn't be confronted by the direct evidence of what was happening. Maybe, just maybe, that would give him the time to deal with it.

Maybe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

It was finally the weekend. Tim didn't think he'd looked forward to a weekend so much in a long time. In fact, the rest of the week had passed without any new bodies. Tim was just fine with that. He'd even managed to relax just slightly, not enough that he wasn't tied up in knots but enough that he didn't feel like he was suffocating from the stress.

Getting home was a distinct relief. Tim hated the whole situation so intensely that all he wanted was to escape it and for the evening he could _try_ to escape and forget about a possible serial killer on the loose, killing people just to get to him.

He got into his apartment, dropped his bag on the floor, set his gun and badge on the counter and was ready to collapse onto a chair for a while. No one around to ask him how he was. No one giving him the concerned looks or suggesting that he needed extra help. Just himself alone.

Alas, he'd no sooner thought that when there was a knock at the door. He sighed and went over to open it.

"Melanie, what can I do for you?" he asked his neighbor.

Melanie smiled. "Actually, I have something for you."

"Oh, you do? What?"

"Hey, are you okay?" Melanie asked suddenly, as she looked closely at his face.

Tim suppressed a grimace. He hated that question.

"Bad day at work," he said. "What do you have? Maybe it'll improve my mood."

"I don't think it will. It smells bad."

"Smells bad?" Tim repeated in confusion.

"Yeah, it's like someone sent you meat or fruit or something and it's rotting. Be careful when you open it."

"Maybe I shouldn't even open it at all," Tim said, thinking that it didn't sound like it would make him feel better.

"Well, you can decide that. I just don't want it in my place anymore. I was listening for you to get home."

Tim laughed a little.

"I don't blame you."

Melanie picked up a box from the floor and held it out to him. There was an unpleasant odor wafting up from the box.

"Definitely smells bad," Tim agreed. "Thanks... I think."

Melanie laughed. "You're welcome. Tell whoever sent it to you that they need to invest in refrigeration."

Tim smiled. "Will do."

He closed the door as she left and looked at the box. The return address was covered by the post office tape. Figured. Who would be sending him something food-related in the mail? It didn't make any sense.

Oh, well. He just shook his head and got out some scissors. Might as well get it over with quickly. Maybe there was a note or something inside and he could find out who had sent it to him. ...and then, throw the whole thing away.

He opened the box.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was really glad to get home. He didn't need the stress of being the one in charge and trying to do all the coordinating while also seeing Tim operating at an even higher degree of stress than he was. As the week had progressed without another murder, Tim hadn't relaxed very much, but he'd stopped looking like he was on the verge of a total breakdown. That was nice. Tony would take what he could get. Metro was looking into whether or not the victim, Jonas Marlo, had any enemies, thinking that maybe, with no other victims forthcoming, someone had tried to use the idea of a serial killer to kill him and get away with it. Nothing had shown up so far. The FBI hadn't found anything in Ahrendson's records connecting him to someone else.

But at least, Gibbs would be back and in charge on Monday. That was a great thing.

He set his stuff down and was ready to order some takeout when his phone rang. He got out a stack of takeout menus and didn't even look at his phone as he answered.

"DiNozzo."

There was only silence.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

He looked at his phone to see who had called.

_McGee._

"Tim? Hello?"

" _Tony..."_ That was it for a few seconds.

"Tim, what's going on? You're freaking me out."

A shaky laugh.

"Tim! Talk to me!"

" _Tony... I think... I think you should... get over here... with something to..."_ There was an audible swallow. _"There's evidence for you to process here."_

"Is _here_ your place?"

" _Yeah. My place. It's my place."_

Tim wasn't outright losing it, but Tony could hear a very dangerous edge in Tim's voice.

"What is it?"

" _A...body part. In a box. Sent to me. Cover with...maggots."_ Another audible swallow. _"A rotting body part. In a box. Being eaten by...maggots."_ Then, Tony heard Tim swear and drop the phone. He winced and figured that meant Tim had gone to throw up. He hoped.

Well, so much for dinner. At least for now.

He grabbed his bag and his keys and headed for NCIS. Then, he got the materials for processing and started up to Tim's place, calling both Gibbs and Ducky on the way. It was two days before Gibbs would be back, and Tim wasn't staying at his place if Tony could do anything to force him to listen to reason.

A body part. What part? Had Tim not said because he didn't know or because it was so bad that he couldn't bring himself to say it? Was this a _Se7en_ situation? Tony really hoped not. It was bad enough in a movie. It didn't matter how experienced he was. No one wanted to find something like that.

Well, he wouldn't know unless he looked for himself. So he drove as quickly as he could to Tim's apartment. Then, he hurried up the stairs and knocked on the door.

And then, he waited.

For sixty of the longest seconds he'd ever experienced.

"Tim! Open the door!"

He knocked again.

Then, he heard shuffling feet and the chain.

Finally, the door opened.

Tim looked terrible, but still, he was holding it together. Barely.

"Tim, what–?"

"It's in the kitchen, Tony. On the floor. I'm sorry but I acted like any other person would. I dropped it. On the floor. In the kitchen."

"Okay. I'll check it out."

Tony walked into the kitchen and saw the box on the floor, maggots crawling around on the floor and then, he saw what had shocked Tim so much.

No head. Thank goodness.

But it was a hand. A human hand, clenched into a fist with maggots swarming all over it. The flesh was rotting and there was a distinctly disgusting odor. It had been a few days, probably. And one more thing that just made it worse.

The hand had a wedding ring on the ring finger. It was definitely a feminine ring. Whoever this was...

Had Tim noticed? How could he not have? Whether he had or not, Tony had no intention of pointing it out. He looked back and saw Tim sitting on his computer chair, staring toward Tony. He couldn't see into the kitchen, but Tony would guess that he didn't need to.

"Okay. Ducky and Gibbs are coming over, and Tim... you're not staying here."

"What?"

"If this guy knows where you live, you're not staying here."

Tim nodded.

"Who is this from?"

Tim shrugged. "Don't know."

"Then, why did you open it?"

"There's an address. It was just covered by the tape. I didn't..." Tim shook his head and looked distressed. "Why would I ever expect this, Tony? I didn't expect it! I didn't know. I..."

"Okay, Tim. Calm down."

Tim took a deep breath and tried to do as Tony said.

Tony began photographing the scene. Tim didn't try to help him, and Tony didn't mind it, not this time. He'd rather have Tim out of the way completely.

Gibbs walked in after a few minutes.

"Over here, Boss," Tony said.

Gibbs just nodded and walked over to Tim.

"You can't stay here. It's a crime scene, now."

Tim just nodded. Tony turned back to the maggots on the floor, trying to give the illusion of privacy in case Gibbs decided to engage in his usual method of getting people back on the horse (basically throwing them back in the saddle whether they could manage staying on or not).

"You have to work through this, Tim," Gibbs said. "You can't let him get to you."

There was no verbal response. Tony figured Tim must have just nodded again, which meant he wasn't really listening.

"I mean it, Tim."

"I hear you, Boss," Tim said.

Heard and ignored, Tony figured.

"Pack some things, McGee," Gibbs said, after a few seconds.

"Yes, Boss."

Gibbs walked over to the kitchen and Tony looked up, raising an eyebrow in a silent question. Gibbs just shook his head.

"Don't touch the hand until Ducky gets here," Gibbs said.

Right at that moment, the hand was half in the box and half out of the box, so checking the box thoroughly would have to wait until Ducky arrived.

"Tim said that there was tape obscuring the return address and he just didn't even think about it being anything related to the case. How would this guy know where Tim lives?"

Gibbs nodded. "Don't know. We check all his mail from now on."

"Okay."

A brief knock on the door and Ducky came in.

"Oh, dear," he said, as he got a look at the severed hand. "This is what I'm here for?"

"Yeah. Someone mailed it to Tim."

"Oh, dear," Ducky said and lowered his voice. "How did Timothy take it?"

"Bad," Tony said.

Ducky nodded and walked over to the hand. Tony left him to it and walked into Tim's bedroom. Tim was sitting on his bed, hands over his head, elbows on his knees. A partially packed bag was sitting on the bed beside him. Tony walked over and sat down beside Tim. For once, he couldn't think of a single thing to say, so he just patted Tim awkwardly on the back. After a few seconds, Tim sat up and then quickly stood.

"Finished in there?" he asked.

"No. Ducky just got here."

"So it'll be a while, then."

"Yeah. Who do you think you'll stay with?"

"I don't know. Preferably someone with an actual spare bed."

"So not me, then," Tony said, smiling.

Tim glanced at him and managed to smile back a little bit.

"Not if you don't have a real bed."

"Nope. You've been there. It hasn't changed. But my couch _is_ a pullout."

"No, but thanks."

"I'll bet Ducky or Gibbs would be willing to put you up, and you know that they both have spare rooms."

"I'm _not_ staying with Gibbs," Tim said. "I'm already on the verge of exploding from stress. That would _not_ help." He managed another smile and a nervous chuckle.

"Tim, I won't insult you by saying it's fine or anything, but you know that this guy is just trying to get to you, right?"

"It's working," Tim said, staring straight ahead.

"I know, but this could be anyone else it was happening to. It's not really about you. It's about him wanting to confuse you and keep you from thinking clearly enough to find him."

"Anthony, could you join us, please?" Ducky called from the kitchen.

"Coming," Tony called back.

"I'll finish packing," Tim said.

Tony nodded and went out to the kitchen.

"What is it?" he asked.

"A note," Ducky said, his voice very low. "Tucked into the hand. I didn't want Timothy to see it unless it was necessary."

"A note?"

"Yes."

Gibbs handed it to him and Tony took it and then groaned inwardly.

_Vermiphobia. This made her squirm. What scares you, Agent McGee?_

_Anuptaphobia_

"Vermiphobia, of course, is a fear of worms, maggots are often included in the definition," Ducky said.

"Anuptaphobia? Fear of...what?" Tony asked.

"Fear of never getting married."

Tony's brow furrowed. "But Tim isn't scared of that, is he?"

"I have no idea, but that may not matter. Timothy is single and likely does want to get married some day. This person, whoever he might be, is choosing to interpret this as a fear," Ducky said.

"So the next murder will likely involve someone getting married," Gibbs said and cleared his throat...and then, winced a little.

"Yes. I think we can't afford to assume that this will be the end of it, particularly since the killer is taking the time to make sure we're aware of it. He's confident he'll get away with what he's doing."

"The hand has a wedding ring on it," Tony said. "Maybe this is supposed to be both of those?"

"I don't know. I suppose it's possible, but I'm not sure why he would do it that way. I don't really have enough experience with this kind of thing."

"But where does this end?" Tony asked. "Tim will run out of things that could be considered fears eventually."

"I can see one of two possibilities," Ducky said. "Either he'll go somewhere else, satisfied that he has won or else he'll choose to make Timothy his last victim as a way of finishing things up. Perhaps the FBI profilers will draw a different conclusion, but that is mine."

"Are you ready to pack this up?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes. We can get it back to NCIS before any more damage is done."

"Hey, Ducky, can Tim stay with you for the next little while?" Tony asked. "He can't stay here with it being a crime scene and he'd like a real bed so he won't be staying with me."

"Of course. Perhaps I can get him to listen when he's a captive audience."

"That would be great if you could," Tony said.

"He'll have to come and make a statement, first," Gibbs said.

"Tonight?"

"Get it over with," Gibbs said and then winced again and pulled out a water bottle.

In spite of the situation, Tony couldn't help but smile at the sight of Gibbs drinking water instead of coffee. It just didn't seem right. Gibbs caught his expression and glared.

"How's the caffeine withdrawal?" Tony asked.

"Got over that a long time ago, DiNozzo. It's been three months."

"Right."

The eyebrow went way up.

"You finished?" he asked.

"Not quite yet," Tony said, choosing to construe the question as relating to the crime scene. "Have to get the box."

"Then, do it."

Tony continued to process the scene and then, with Ducky finished and all the evidence bagged and tagged, they were ready to go to NCIS.

"Did you get everything?" Tim asked.

"Might have missed a bug or two, but mostly, yeah."

"Great."

"Let's go."

"NCIS?" Tim asked.

"Yeah. You'll need to give a statement."

"Okay."

They left the apartment and headed to the Yard.

Tony knew they'd have to tell Tim about the note eventually, and they'd need to get a serious list of things that might be construed as fears Tim had, but he was dreading forcing Tim to confront the idea that anything he might possibly be afraid of could be used as a means of killing someone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Tim woke up and for a moment couldn't figure out where he was. Everything was unfamiliar. Then...

"Oh, yeah. Ducky's place," he muttered to himself.

Because his apartment was currently a crime scene. Because a psycho had sent him...

"Stop it, Tim," he said fiercely to himself. "Man up and stop being an idiot."

He knew people were keeping things from him at work because he was being such a weakling. The thing was, he was such a wimp that he'd let it stay that way. Ducky kept trying to talk to him about it but Tim kept dodging him. All in all, he knew that he was being stupid and that he shouldn't let people treat him like a scared child.

From now on, he wasn't going to let it get to him. He wasn't going to give anyone a reason to think he was having trouble. If he did, he was going to deal with it on his own. It was ridiculous that people could just look at him and know that he was struggling. No more.

And maybe, if he stopped showing how weak he was, the killer would stop targeting him. He knew he had an easy mark and so he could keep at it. If he stopped, maybe the killing would stop, too. That was really all he wanted. Tim just wanted the killing to be finished. He knew murder would always be a part of the job, but not when it was his fault it was happening.

He just wanted it to stop. Whatever it took. He just wanted it to stop.

He took a deep breath and got out of bed. There had been nothing in three days, no sign of someone missing, although someone obviously had to be.

He got ready for the day as quickly as he could, hoping that Ducky wouldn't catch him before he could get out of the house. He'd carpooled with Ducky but that just gave Ducky a chance to keep trying to get him to talk about it.

He almost made it to the door.

"In a hurry, Timothy?"

Tim stopped and turned around. He forced himself to smile.

"Just want to get to work. Lots to do."

"Are you sure of that?"

"Ducky, I'm fine. I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."

Ducky raised an eyebrow, far too reminiscent of Gibbs. "So simply? You haven't been. Not by any stretch of the imagination."

Tim felt his face redden a little in embarrassment.

"Timothy, it's nothing to be so embarrassed about. We understand."

Tim shook his head. "No, Ducky. It's time to set it aside. I'm fine and I just need to stop letting people treat me like I'm so fragile."

"You're not fragile, Timothy, but..."

"But nothing, Ducky. I'm glad I have someplace to stay, but I'm done with letting this get to me."

"Are you? Or are you simply done with letting us see that you're upset?"

"Everyone else just moves on. Why don't you think I can do that?"

"Because _no one_ actually does that," Ducky said, smiling knowingly. "They simply pretend they have and what you're dealing with is very serious."

"No. It's fine. _I'm_ fine. Gibbs is going to keep me at the building as usual anyway. Nothing's going to happen."

Tim turned to open the door again, but Ducky caught him by the arm.

"Timothy, I understand your need to try and set it aside and I even agree with it to some degree, but if you simply ignore something that is clearly very painful for you, it will only get worse."

"No. It'll be fine," Tim said. Repeating the word as if he could _make_ things fine just by saying it enough.

Ducky let him go.

"See you there," he said.

"Bye."

Tim stopped to buy a coffee and donut on his way to work and got there before pretty much anyone else. Good. He could get into a groove and maybe no one would stop and see how he was doing. There weren't many who did since he'd asked that people not. All the better.

"McGee! Hey!"

He looked up and smiled.

"Torrance, when did you get back?" he asked.

Torrance hurried over and she gave him a hug around the waist. It was the first time in weeks that he'd felt really happy about something.

"Today was the first day my doctor let me come," she said. There was still some scarring from the burns. He could see it on her face and arms, but the grafts had been good and the burns not as deep as they could have been.

"You seem very chipper."

"Oh, I'm so glad to get out of my apartment," Torrance said. "You know, these skin grafts. Have to make sure that they're really working and avoid infection and all that. I'll still have a bit more cosmetic stuff to clean it up, but overall, I'm thrilled. I'll mostly be here, though. Just for a couple of weeks."

"Me, too."

"Oh, really? Why?"

"Well..."

Before he got more out than that, Balboa was walking in.

"Torrance. Glad to see you here. I need to bring you up to speed on what we're doing."

"Oh, duty calls," Torrance said. She flashed Tim a smile and then walked off with Balboa.

Tim knew she'd probably be one who couldn't resist asking him if he was okay once she found out what was going on. And she would since Balboa's team was working with Gibbs.

Oh, well. Couldn't be helped. At least, Torrance was always so happy that he couldn't get upset at her.

He started plowing through the hundreds of emails they'd recently found stored on Ahrendson's computer. FBI people were checking these things out, too, but they were also coordinating with Metro to figure out who the hand belonged to. Tim felt a little queasy thinking about that, but then, he sternly pushed that to the side.

No. He was fine.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony could see what Ducky had meant. When he got to work, Tim was already there, with a determined expression on his face. Every so often, it would flicker, but it always came back. Tim had obviously decided that he wasn't going to be affected, but he _was_ being affected and so it led to this situation. He wanted to force Tim to admit that this couldn't work long-term, but Ducky had recommended that they leave it for a little while. Maybe Tim really could throw off his trauma if he just forced himself to. Ducky hadn't seemed hopeful, but Tim was a rational adult and he should be given the chance to make his own decisions.

So they were sitting in near silence, trying to find _something_. Gibbs was there as well, still getting caught up on everything, still carrying his bottle of water around with him instead of his omnipresent coffee cup. It was still bizarre, but Gibbs (being Gibbs) wasn't showing any sign of irritation at not having his coffee.

About eleven, Gibbs' phone rang. He answered quickly.

"Gibbs."

Tony and Tim both looked up as Gibbs appeared to be listening intently.

"They're sure?" he asked. "Now? Okay."

He hung up and looked at Tony.

"Someone claims to recognize the ring on the hand," he said.

Tim winced but then covered that quickly.

"Fornell will meet us at the house."

"Me, too, Boss?" Tim asked.

"No. Keep working here."

"All right," Tim said, sinking back down to his chair.

Tony and Gibbs headed out.

"You think that Tim's really okay, Boss?" Tony asked as they left.

"Do you?"

"No."

Gibbs just nodded.

They headed for the address Fornell had given and got there at the same time as he did.

"Who's running this?" Tony asked as they met at the sidewalk.

"I am," Fornell said, "but if you have a question to throw in, feel free. How's the throat, Gibbs?"

"Fine," Gibbs said, glaring.

Fornell just smiled and Tony could see that it was a real smile. Fornell was glad Gibbs was there for him to needle. They walked up to the front door and Fornell knocked. The door opened revealing a man and a woman, both in their sixties.

"Agent Fornell, ma'am. I spoke to you on the phone."

"Oh, yes."

"This is Agent Gibbs and Agent DiNozzo, the NCIS agents I said I might be bringing with me."

"Hello," the man said. "I'm Weston Jones and my wife Hilary. Please, come in."

They walked into a living room and sat down.

"Now, you said that you had seen the ring on the news?" Fornell asked.

"Yes. It belongs to our daughter, Melissa," Hilary said, looking very worried. "She and her fiancé, Alan, are supposed to be getting married soon."

"You reported them missing yesterday?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes, but we haven't heard from them in a week."

"Why did you wait so long?" Fornell asked.

Hilary smiled a little but looked shaky. Weston took over.

"Melissa and Alan have been planning their wedding for months. They were getting fed up with it and had started threatening to elope and then, they'd just have a big party when they got back," he said.

"They said it over and over," Hilary added. "They always laughed, but they're the kinds of people who would really do it. We thought that, maybe, they'd really decided to elope and they'd call us, but we started calling them and we couldn't get any answer. Alan's parents have said the same. No one has seen them or heard from them in a week. Then... when we saw the ring on the news story... Melissa loved that ring. She wouldn't even take it off when she went to bed. She always wanted to have it on. She was excited to get married. Both she and Alan were a bit older and they were happy to have found each other."

"Where did the ring come from? The news story wasn't specific," Weston said.

Tony wasn't excited about doing this, but he could see that it was necessary. And he was glad Tim wouldn't be here for it.

Fornell took a breath and leaned forward.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but an agent was sent... a hand wearing that ring."

For a moment, there was just a disbelieving shocked expression on their faces. Then, Hilary began to cry and she leaned against Weston.

"A hand?" Weston repeated. "Sent how?"

"In the mail. It came to his home."

"Maybe she's still alive, though, right?" Hilary asked. "It was her hand not... anything else."

"It's always possible, ma'am," Fornell said, "but if she's been missing for that long..."

"What about Alan? He wouldn't do that to her. Never."

"We haven't had anything to tell us about his whereabouts. I know this is terrible for you, but if you could tell us where and when you saw them last, that will give us the information we might need to find them."

Hilary was still crying, but she nodded.

"We'll do whatever we can to get our daughter back," Weston said.

"All right."

They began to go over as many details as they could in the hopes of getting the clue they'd need.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was taking a break from staring at the computer when his phone rang.

"McGee."

" _Hey, someone's on the phone asking for you, Agent McGee."_

"Someone? Who?"

" _Hiker out in the Prince William Forest Park found two bodies, one missing the left hand. Called police, and apparently you're mentioned."_

Tim paled and looked around.

" _Can you take the call?"_

"Y-Yes. Patch them through."

Tim felt sick. Two bodies? He assumed that one was the one who belonged to the hand that had been sent to him. Who was the other one?

"Agent McGee," he said, trying to sound professional.

" _Good. This is Detective Canton with the Virginia State Police. We've got two bodies out here, and since you've been named, we'd like to have you come on out and take a look. We've got our M.E. on the way, but you can have your own as well if you'd like."_

"You said I was mentioned. What do you mean?"

" _I mean that there's a note with your name on it. Even specificed NCIS. So you coming?"_

"Yes. I'll be there as soon as I can."

" _Good. Take exit 150 off 95 and when you get to the police block, they'll give you directions where to go."_

"Okay."

Tim hung up and sat there for a few seconds. In reality, he knew that Gibbs wouldn't want him doing this, but if he was going to show everyone that he could handle it, he'd have to go and get this done, but he couldn't go by himself. That really would get him in trouble.

Agent Balboa. He was working on this, too.

He got up and walked over to that side, but the only one there was Torrance.

"Hey, where's your team?" he asked.

Torrance looked up and grimaced.

"They got a call from some tipster. Probably nothing, but you know we have to check these things out when they come in."

"Yeah."

"Anything I can do?" she asked.

"Actually... police have two bodies down in Virginia, probably tied to the case. I'm going down to see what there is to see."

"You? Are you sure that's..."

"I'm not going to fall apart because of a couple of bodies," Tim said, firmly. "Want to come?"

"Um..."

"I'll go by myself if I need to," Tim said.

"You shouldn't do that," Torrance said, instantly.

"Well, the police will be on the scene. I'm going to be there alone."

"Still..." Torrance looked uncertain but then she stood up. "Okay. I'll call Balboa on our way down."

"Don't worry. You can blame it on me," Tim said.

"Don't worry. I will," Torrance said, but she smiled a little.

Tim didn't want to admit it, but he was glad to have someone with him.

The drive down was far too short.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I hate having to give bad news," Fornell said as they got to their cars.

"Me, too. You don't really think there's a chance they're alive, do you?"

"Ducky said that, based on the blowfly maturity, it had been three days when Agent McGee got the hand. If she hasn't shown up in a hospital somewhere missing a hand, she's probably dead, no matter how," Fornell said.

Gibbs' phone rang.

"Gibbs."

Tony looked over and saw Gibbs' expression go from frustrated to worried and then to blank very quickly.

"You know where?" Gibbs asked. "Okay. We'll take care of it."

He hung up and started for the driver's side.

"What's up, Boss?"

"State police found two bodies in Prince William Forest Park. One missing the left hand. McGee and Torrance are on their way down."

"McGee? Why?"

"Because, according to Torrance, there was a note mentioning him and the VSP called. McGee was the only one there," Gibbs said.

"You mind if I tag along?" Fornell asked.

"Nope."

"Good, because I would have anyway."

Gibbs just grunted and got in the car. Tony hurried around to the passenger side.

"Boss?"

Gibbs said nothing.

"Maybe he's really okay," Tony said, not believing it himself.

Gibbs glanced almost incredulously over at him.

"Yeah, I know. Stupid."

"We can hope so," Gibbs said.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They were passed into the park and given directions to where the bodies had been found. Tim drove over and parked. Then, he took a breath.

"Tim, you don't have anything to prove, you know."

Tim looked over.

"Yeah, I do."

"Not to me, and I'm the one who's here. You and Will saved my life. You're a hero to me, and that's what matters."

Tim smiled a little.

"It's not you I'm worried about."

"Hey, Balboa told me about what's been going on. That would wind anyone up."

"That's not what happened to me, and everyone knows it. I freaked out and I did it so much that now everyone acts like I'm liable to fall apart at every second. That's probably the reason this guy picked me out in the first place. He can see a weak target."

"Tim, come on."

"No, Daelyn, I'm not going to let this guy see if something bugs me. And I'm going to start acting like a rational adult. They're waiting for us."

Tim got out before Torrance could say anything else. He walked over to the police and got out his badge.

"Agent McGee, NCIS. This is Agent Torrance."

"This way," the cop said. "I hope you have a strong stomach."

"Strong enough," Tim said. _I hope._

They walked over to where an M.E. was kneeling beside two decomposing bodies. Tim saw the body with the missing hand first. But both were in an awful condition. The maggots had been hard at work and there was no a part of the bodies that had not been partially eaten. A number of flies were zooming around over the scene, and there was a definite odor. Tim didn't know how Torrance was feeling, but he was feeling a little ill.

"Agent McGee?"

"Yeah."

"Detective Canton."

Tim nodded.

"I'm Agent Torrance. I'm also with NCIS."

"All right. Can you tell me why this man and woman were killed and left here with a note to you, Agent McGee?"

"What did the note say?"

"Jack, you got that note?" Detective Canton asked.

Another detective brought an evidence bag over.

"Here. You tell me what it means."

Tim took it and looked and then felt horrified.

_Anuptaphobia. They'll never be married now. What scares you, NCIS Agent McGee?_

_Naviphobia_

Tim mutely handed the note over to Torrance and rubbed one hand over his mouth.

"What's going on, Agent McGee?"

"One of the bodies is missing a hand?" he asked.

"Yeah. Left hand on the female."

"You want an I.D., Canton?" the M.E. asked. "Got a wallet."

"Yeah. Give it to me."

He took the wallet and then looked at Tim again.

"Alan Torngren. Does that name mean anything to you, Agent McGee?"

"No, it doesn't."

"You've been pretty good at dodging my questions. What's going on?"

"Last week, I was sent a severed hand in the mail," Tim said, finally. "We've been trying to figure out who it belonged to."

"Why to you?"

Tim was very conscious of Torrance standing nearby.

"I don't know," he said. "We're still working on that." But he knew he was basically lying and he didn't like that, so he added more. "It's possible that we might have a serial killer on our hands."

"Who else?"

"Man thrown off a roof in Silver Spring last week."

Detective Canton looked at him for just long enough that Tim wondered if the detective could see his horror at what he was seeing. Then, he took the note back and looked at it.

"Anuptaphobia. What's that?"

"I don't know," Tim said.

"Fear of never getting married," said someone from behind.

Tim grimaced and turned around. Sure enough, Gibbs, Tony _and_ Fornell were all walking over to the bodies.

"Who are you all?" Detective Canton asked.

"Agent Gibbs. This is Agent DiNozzo."

"Agent Fornell of the FBI."

"This is big, then."

Gibbs nodded, but Tim could see the _look_ that said he'd be in trouble later. That meant he had only so much time to get himself in hand and keep from freaking out like everyone thought he would.

"Agent McGee, Agent Torrance, thank you for getting here first," Gibbs said formally, in a way that really let Tim know he was in for it. "Would you mind if I called in our M.E. as well?"

"Nope. I don't want to be kept out of this, but if you want to do your thing, go ahead," Detective Canton said.

"Call Dr. Mallard, Agent McGee," Gibbs said.

"Will do," Tim said.

He started back to the car, knowing that he was being dismissed.

"Agent Gibbs didn't look too happy, McGee," Torrance said, needlessly.

"Yeah. I'm in trouble, although I shouldn't be."

Suddenly, Tim mentally replayed what Gibbs had said. Anuptaphobia. The significance of that and the victims hit him like a ton of bricks. He stopped and looked at Torrance.

"What? Tim, you look like someone just walked over your grave. What's wrong?"

"Fear of never getting married. I'm not afraid of that. I mean... I'm single but... I'm not afraid of never getting married. It's like he's decided what I'm scared of... and that means that he killed... an actual couple because he decided that _I_ must be afraid of not getting married." Tim swore under his breath.

If it was possible for him to feel worse, Tim didn't know how. So much for not showing how he felt. Torrance grabbed him by the arm and almost dragged him back to the car. She made him sit down in the passenger seat.

"I wonder what the cause of death was," Tim whispered.

"Tim, snap out of it! Just because that was his excuse for killing doesn't mean anything but that he found an excuse."

"And a victim," Tim said. "Don't you get it, Daelyn? He's choosing his victims based on what he thinks of me. Those two people... he picked them because of me."

"Maybe you should just call Ducky," Torrance said after a few seconds. "And stop trying to pretend this doesn't bug you. Everyone has something that gets to them. If this is it for you, there's no shame in that!"

"Yes, there is," Tim said, but he refocused for the moment. He'd let some of it out, but to Torrance not to his team. He could still recover from this set back. He pulled out his phone and called Ducky.

" _Dr. Mallard."_

"Ducky, Gibbs wants you to come down to Prince William Forest Park and check out a couple of bodies. One of them is missing the left hand."

" _Oh, dear. I'm sorry, Timothy."_

"Not about how I feel, Ducky," Tim said. "VSP is already investigating but I think Gibbs wants to make sure we're part of it."

" _Of course. Mr. Palmer and I will be down as soon as possible."_

"All right. Bye."

Tim hung up before Ducky could ask him any questions. Then, before Torrance could say anything else, Tony walked over. Tim stood up.

"Tim, Gibbs wants you to go back to headquarters. He's pretty ticked off at you."

"I was doing my job, Tony," Tim said. "I didn't wander off on my own. I didn't break any laws. I was called and asked to come down here. So I did. I didn't even come by myself."

"That's not why he's mad and you know it."

"I didn't do anything wrong," Tim said, with some heat.

"Tim, I'll drive back, okay?" Torrance suggested, quickly interrupting the argument before it could really get started.

"Sure. Okay," Tim said and handed her the keys.

He got in the car and they headed back up to D.C. It was silent for a few minutes.

"Tim, you know that they're just worried about you, right?"

"I know, but I don't want them to be. This needs to be about finding this guy, not about whether or not I can take it."

"And what if you can't?" she asked.

"Then, I shouldn't be an agent at all," Tim said. "Either I can do the job or I can't. If I can't, I shouldn't be doing it. When they keep acting like I can't handle it, what they're really saying is I shouldn't be in the job."

The silence fell again and lasted until they got back to the Yard.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Cause of death isn't obvious from first glance," Ducky said. "What do you think, Galene?"

The state M.E. nodded in agreement.

"There's so much decomp at this point that the only thing we _can_ say is that they weren't shot. Probably. No _obvious_ bullet holes. And I can also say that I'm sick of these flies," she said, waving at yet another blow fly. "I haven't had to process a body in this condition for years, let alone two of them at the same time."

"Same condition?" Gibbs asked.

"I would venture a guess that both were killed and left out at the same time, but they haven't been _here_ the entire time," Ducky said. "Would you agree?"

"Yeah," Galene said. "This looks like both bodies have been moved. I don't see enough of the bodily fluids on the ground to indicate they decayed here."

"And I would wager that when we move them, we'll find that the grass below them is still alive, not dead as it would be if they had been killed and left here."

"Are you ready to move them?" Detective Canton asked.

"I believe so. Now, will they be going to the state or to NCIS?" Ducky asked, looking at the men arrayed above the M.E.s. "Or to the FBI?"

Gibbs and Fornell and Canton all looked at each other, as if debating whether or not it was worth fighting about.

"Your case," Gibbs said, finally, to Detective Canton. "You have jurisdiction."

"Could be part of your case, too," Detective Canton said.

"If I might interject," Ducky said, getting to his feet. "Perhaps it would be best to take the bodies to the closest office with the understanding that information will be shared among all the agencies represented here?"

"Okay by me," Detective Canton said.

"I'm from the Manassas office," Galene said.

"That's closer than the Yard," Ducky said.

"I'd be happy to have you come along with me as well, Dr. Mallard," Galene said.

"I'd be happy to come. Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs nodded.

"Excellent. Once we get the bodies loaded, Mr. Palmer and I will see you there, then."

"Sounds good."

The bodies were finally removed from the place where they'd been found, and as Ducky had predicted, the grass beneath them was matted but not dead or even brown. Tony knelt down with another officer and began to document the ground, making sure nothing had been missed.

"You feds are pretty reasonable," Detective Canton said. "I figured we'd be fighting all the way through."

"You caught us on a good day," Fornell said. "Or a bad one. I don't know which yet."

Detective Canton smiled and then watched as Ducky and Jimmy helped Galene move the bodies to her truck.

"Serial killer, huh?"

"Maybe," Fornell said.

"Probably," Gibbs said.

"And he sent the missing hand to your agent?"

"Yeah," Gibbs said.

"Why? Your agent said he didn't know."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow. Tony said nothing, not knowing what Gibbs would be thinking about Tim's behavior.

"Seems to think that Agent McGee wants to know what he's planning," Gibbs said, noncommitally.

"Yeah, but why him and not some other agent?"

Tony waited to see what Gibbs was going to say. The more people who knew exactly _why_ Tim was the focus the more likely it would be that it would become common knowledge. Once the media got a hold of it, Tim would have no peace at all.

"Had to be someone," Gibbs said.

"Guess so. I don't think your agent likes it all that much."

"He doesn't."

"All right, keep your secrets. I can tell there's more to it, but as long as you don't try to keep me out of this one, I won't push."

Gibbs just nodded without admitting to anything. They finished up and then went their separate ways.

"What are you going to do, Boss?" Tony asked as they got to the car. "About McGee."

"Don't know."

"Gibbs."

Gibbs turned around and there was Fornell.

"Are you going to let McGee stay on this? You really think he can handle it?" Fornell asked.

"Can't keep the guy from involving him," Gibbs said.

"Yeah, but you could keep him from being part of the investigation. How important is it that he be directly involved?"

"You said it yourself, Fornell," Tony said. "He's part of it. We can't change that."

"But it doesn't look to me like he's managing to deal with it at all."

"You think he'll really let us keep him out?" Tony said.

"He's an employee. Supposedly, you're in charge, Gibbs. Aren't you?"

Gibbs just rolled his eyes.

"Well, he's your agent, but being targeted like this has ruined other people, more experienced than Agent McGee is."

"McGee's not a newbie. He's been an agent for more than a decade, Fornell," Tony said.

"Yes, he has," Fornell said. That was it. Then, he walked away.

Tony and Gibbs got in the car and headed back to D.C.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Fornell walked into the FBI and found Sacks looking far too involved for there to be nothing going on.

"What's up, Ron?"

"Give me a second," he said without looking away.

Fornell sat down and waited. While he waited, he thought about Tim's situation. He was clearly not dealing with it well, but he'd reached the point where he wasn't going to admit it. How he'd managed to work through the initial shock to the point of being able to pretend he wasn't that bothered Fornell didn't know but he didn't think it was healthy and he really didn't think that it should be ignored as Gibbs seemed to be doing.

"Okay. We might have something."

"Something about what? And how much might we have?"

"Possibly the building where Ahrendson was living in D.C."

"What? How?"

"One of the geeks told me last week that he thought he could find something if I let him have at it and gave him the time. I decided that we didn't have anything to lose and so I said he could try it. He used the building as his starting point and moved backward, using cameras and cars. I don't know how many people he had to call and I'm not sure I _want_ to know, but he has a building that he swears is it. Want to go and check it out?"

"Sure."

They left the building.

"So?"

"Looks like it's related. Got another note for Agent McGee."

"And? What's next?"

"Fear of boats, apparently."

"Doesn't narrow it down much, does it."

"Nope."

"And how did Agent McGee take it?"

"He's pretending it's not a problem."

"So not well."

"Nope."

"Can't blame him."

"Nope."

The drive was mostly silent, and what they pulled up to was a rundown apartment building in Brentwood.

"This one?" Fornell asked.

"That's the address Larsen gave me," Sacks said.

"Okay."

They went in to talk to the manager. Over two months after Ahrendson's death, they didn't have much hope of anything still being around, even if this was the place, but they'd never know if they didn't check it out.

"No Ahrendson here, but I do have one guy I'm in the process of evicting. I don't know if he's not here or if he's just really good at sneaking in and out, but he's got two more days before I go in and move his stuff out."

"Name?"

"Gore Edwards."

The opposite of the name of the author of the book Ahrendson had used as inspiration. Fornell looked at Sacks significantly and pulled out a photo of Ahrendson.

"Is this your renter?"

The manager stared at it for a long time. "I think so, but I'm not sure. I didn't see him much. Why?"

"He's probably dead."

The manager paled. "In the apartment?"

"No. Two months ago. We think this is someone who died a couple of months ago," Sacks said. "We need to search the apartment, but if you haven't yet officially kicked him out, then, we need to get a warrant first."

Fornell pulled out his card.

"We'll be back as soon as possible. If you see him or anyone going to that apartment, please let us know."

"What about his stuff? I was going to sell anything that might help me get back some of the money I've lost."

"What we don't want is all yours, but we need to gather fingerprints, too. So you shouldn't go in there until we get a chance."

The manager nodded. Fornell could see him wondering if his fingerprints would already be in there and if it would get him in trouble.

"We should be back later today."

"Okay."

They left the building.

"That's got to be him," Sacks said.

"Can't see who else it would be," Fornell said. "Let's get our warrant."

They hurried back to the office to see if they could find a judge willing to work quickly.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim knew he would be in trouble, but he didn't want to deal with it. So when he got back, he brushed off Torrance's concern and went to his desk. He tried to think about anything in his life that might be construed as a fear. He didn't want to be taken by surprise again.

But as soon as he started doing that, all he could think about was the fact those two people had been killed because this Wordsmith had thought he was afraid of never getting married. That meant that they had probably been about to get married. An engaged couple who would never have that now...because some psycho had decided that Tim was afraid of getting married. What else would happen? How else would someone die? What had killed those two? How long had they suffered before he killed them? Had the woman been alive when he cut her hand off?

Arms around him from behind startled him and he turned quickly.

"Abby," he said, letting out a loud exhale.

"I heard you were having a bad day. Thought you could use a hug."

Tim wanted to say that he was fine, but for some reason, he couldn't say that to Abby. Maybe it was just because he knew that it wouldn't matter what he said to her. Abby would still hug him anyway.

"I think I could," he admitted.

Abby hugged him again and Tim hugged her back.

"Thanks."

"You want to talk about it?"

"No. Just a hug."

He enjoyed the feeling for a little bit, but then, he heard the phone ringing on the other side of the bullpen. He pulled away from Abby and stood up. He looked Abby for a moment and saw her concern. He couldn't handle that and so he turned his attention to what Balboa was saying. He could only hear one side of the conversation but, somehow, he could guess what was being said.

"Where did you find him?" Balboa said. "Really."

Tim wasn't trying to hide that he was listening in. In fact, he walked away from Abby and over to Balboa's desk. Balboa looked up and him and raised an eyebrow. Tim just returned the gesture and Balboa sighed.

"You're sure?" Another sigh. "All right. We'll be over." He hung up.

"Someone else?" Tim asked.

"Yeah."

"Same guy?"

"Probably."

"How do they know? Another note?" Tim asked.

"McGee."

"Another note?" Tim asked again.

"Yeah."

"Mentioning me."

"Yeah."

"I'm guessing you won't let me come along."

"No. You know that Gibbs doesn't want you on the crime scenes."

"You think that this could possibly be worse than what I've already seen?"

"Maybe. It's worse than that, though."

Tim laughed incredulously. "Another person was murdered because of me and you think it can be worse?"

"Yeah, it can. Media is on the scene. The odds of us keeping this out of the news are slim to none at this point."

"Well, maybe it'll help."

"Do you honestly think that 24-hour media coverage is going to help us find this guy? What it'll likely do is make things worse for you. They'll figure out who you are eventually, McGee."

"Maybe that'll be enough for the killer. To see me convicted in the court of public opinion."

Balboa actually rolled his eyes. "This guy is murdering people, McGee. I don't think a little media coverage is going to make him stop. You're making this too much about you. You can't stop him. You can't make him change his mind. We can't do anything but catch him. That's the only thing that will make him stop, so stop turning yourself into a martyr."

Tim shook his head. "No, I'm not a martyr. Martyrs die for a cause. All I'm doing is sitting around."

He turned and walked back to his desk. Abby was still there, perched on his desk. He plunked down on his chair and exhaled loudly.

"Tim, you need to relax. You're going to give yourself an ulcer."

"Maybe, but it's not happening, Abbs. I can't relax. Not about this stuff." Tim looked up at her. "Imagine how _you_ would feel if someone started a killing spree because of you. Abby, he's not even sticking to things I'm really afraid of. It's like he saw or heard one thing and is killing people simply because he _thinks_ I'm afraid." Tim stood up and grabbed Abby by the shoulders. "I'm not afraid of boats! I get seasick, but I'm not _afraid_ of the boats! I'm not afraid of never getting married, but people are dying because this Wordsmith _thinks_ I am! Do I really put off that impression? Is that what I'm like? Is this what people think of me? How–?"

"Tim! Stop!" Abby said. She put her hands on his cheeks and stared him straight in the eye, looking very concerned. "What's going on with you?"

"I just..."

Then, the elevator dinged and Gibbs and Tony got off. Tim pulled away from Abby and looked at Gibbs. He knew he was going to get a lecture but he really just wasn't in the mood for it.

"McGee, what do you think you were doing there?"

"They called me, Boss. They asked me to come down."

"My office."

Tim sighed and followed Gibbs back to the elevator. They both got on and it moved for perhaps a single second before Gibbs turned it off.

"What are you doing, McGee?"

"My job, Boss," Tim said, feeling both upset _and_ now a little angry. Gibbs hadn't been there through the last few months. _He_ hadn't been the focus of two serial killers. He had no right to get upset about this.

"You were supposed to stay here."

"You never ordered me to stay. You just didn't take me with you to talk to those people who recognized the ring. They specifically asked me to go down there. I wasn't going because I have some kind of twisted interest in seeing dead bodies. They _asked_ me because this is about me no matter how much you all keep trying to pretend it's not!"

"It's about this Wordsmith, whoever he is. It's not you."

"Yes, it is! This is about _me._ He's choosing people based on how he's perceived _me_. He's focusing on _me_. This is about me, Boss! Those two people... they were getting married, weren't they."

"Yeah," Gibbs said, almost reluctantly.

"He picked two people who were engaged, ready to be married, happy with their lives. He picked them because he decided _I_ must be afraid of never getting married. Do you honestly think that he would have done that with just anyone? He wouldn't have. Those two people are dead because of what he thought about _me_. And acting like it could be anyone is just stupid. It's not anyone. It's me."

"Then, you are hands off this case," Gibbs said. "If you can't separate yourself from it, you're not investigating it."

"And how will you keep this Wordsmith from putting my hands back on the case?" Tim asked.

"You're not going to the crime scenes. You're not processing evidence. You are hands off," Gibbs said. "Clear?"

"Yeah. Clear, Boss. Clear as a bell," Tim said.

What was clear to Tim was that Gibbs did _not_ understand what was happening and that, no matter how much anyone tried to keep this from being about Tim, it was about Tim. Rather than say any of that, Tim just stood there and waited for Gibbs to turn the elevator back on. He did understand that Gibbs had to think that way. It was just that it was so inadequate for what was going on. Tim was fine with not having to see the victims of his fears. He was fine with not processing the evidence. None of that would change reality, though. The reality of it was that Tim genuinely didn't know if he could handle reality. He didn't know if he could take what was happening, but as he'd told Torrance, if he couldn't, then, he wasn't good enough to do the job.

The silence lengthened out as Gibbs stared at Tim. Then, finally, he turned around and turned on the elevator. The doors opened and they stepped off. Tony was sitting at his desk, ostensibly working hard. Tim walked to his own desk and sat down. He opened up Ahrendson's computer files again and tried to focus on doing _something_ that might be useful. But he couldn't focus. The question the Wordsmith kept asking him flashed through his mind again.

_What scares you, Agent McGee?_

The answer was still unchanged from what he'd told Tony just days ago (it felt like years).

_That this is all my fault._


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Ducky, Jimmy and Galene sat down to go over the results of the preliminary examination of the bodies.

"I'd say that the hand was removed post-morten," Galene said.

"I agree. Cause of death might be explained by the damaged skull on each body," Ducky said.

"Can we do any tests for drugs with the bodies like this?" Jimmy asked.

"Perhaps with the hair and there's still some of the liver left," Galene said. "But I wouldn't bet on any of the fluids. Even the eyes... I just don't think we can get any of that."

Ducky's phone rang.

"Oh, dear. I apologize."

Galene smiled. "No. You're on the clock. Don't worry about it."

Ducky smiled in reply and answered. "Dr. Mallard."

" _Ducky, can you come and check out a body? It's our serial killer again."_

"Another one? So soon?"

" _Yeah. There's a note. This one is Navy. So it's ours, no matter what."_

"Oh, dear. Where are you?"

" _Not far from the Yard, actually. Diamond-Teague Park. Body was wedged under the Riverwalk. Someone saw the body and pulled it out, thinking the person might be still alive."_

"Just a moment." He looked at Galene. "We have another body. Would you mind terribly if Mr. Palmer and I got over there?"

"Part of this whole mess?" Galene asked.

"I'm afraid it is."

"Then, I don't mind at all. I'll keep working and if you can't join me again, you'll get my full report when I'm done. I promise." She mimed crossing her heart.

"I have no doubts," Ducky said, smiling. "Daniel, we'll be there as soon as possible."

" _Great. Word of warning, though."_

"What?"

" _Media is here."_

"I will keep that in mind."

Ducky and Jimmy packed up and got in the truck.

"How can they find this guy when they don't seem to have anything to tell them who he is?" Jimmy asked as they drove back to D.C. "He doesn't have any connection to the victims that they know so far. The FBI hadn't found any connection to Ahrendson before. It seems like he's picking ways to kill them that don't leave enough traces for things like fingerprints and stuff."

"Yes," Ducky agreed. "This man does seem to be very skilled at concealing himself. He did call himself the master. However, no one is perfect. We have found people before without knowing the initial connections. I have to trust, with so many minds bent to the same task, that we will figure it out."

"Before Tim can't deal with it anymore?" Jimmy asked.

"What do you mean?" Ducky asked.

"The other day. I heard Tim yelling at Tony in the bullpen. When they went outside, I followed, just in case Tim was as mad as he sounded. He wasn't, but he was sitting there in the park and he just looked so miserable. That was at the very beginning. It's not getting any better. How much longer can he take it?"

Ducky sighed. "I don't know the answer to that, unfortunately. For now, let's just get to this next crime scene and pray that we can stop any more bodies from arising."

Jimmy nodded.

"Oh, and one more thing, Mr. Palmer."

"What's that?"

"There will likely be quite a few people, including journalists on the scene. You are not to answer any of their questions. In fact, while I little relish being rude, I will tell you simply to ignore them."

"Okay. I can do that."

"Good. Don't get us lost."

"By the Yard? Not even _you_ give that bad directions," Jimmy said and grinned.

As he'd hoped, the worried expression cleared from Ducky's face for the moment.

Then, he focused on the drive to yet another murder.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You ready for this, Sacks?" Fornell asked.

"Yep. Hopefully no spoiled food in the fridge and no extra dead bodies in the closet," Sacks said.

"Might be asking a bit much."

"Just open the door."

Fornell did as he was told and they stepped into the apartment that was almost certainly Ahrendson's. It had a musty, abandoned smell to it but nothing rotten, thank goodness. Still, they both had their guns ready and they checked out the small one-bedroom apartment. It was completely unoccupied.

"Clear," Sacks said from the bedroom. "He was kind of a slob, I think."

"Guess he was too busy killing people to clean up," Fornell said, putting his gun away.

They began searching through the apartment, looking for anything that might give them an idea of what was happening now.

"Got a phone," Fornell said, as he opened a drawer on a small desk.

It wasn't anything special. In fact, it wasn't even a smartphone. It was an old flip phone that only had text and calling capabilities. No data usage at all. It was obviously dead after months of no use, but there was a charger. They plugged it in and then went back to checking the apartment. Other than clothes strewn all over the place and trash, they didn't see anything right away that indicated a serial killer. It was entirely possible that this had just been a place to crash when necessary, that he'd had yet another space to plan. Then, again, maybe not. After all, Ahrendson's murders had been atypical. No one had been shot or stabbed. They required cunning, mostly, rather than skill with weaponry.

After a few minutes, they went back to the phone. It was charged enough to turn on. They didn't want to be too hopeful that they could get anything useful, but it was worth a shot.

It paid off. The phone contained phone numbers from calls made and received. Or rather, it had one phone number. Not a lot of calls, but one number.

And an unheard voice mail.

"You ready to listen to this?" Fornell asked.

"Absolutely," Sacks said.

They put the phone on speaker and played the message, hoping it wasn't a telemarketer or robocall or something like that.

" _I approve of your choice. Be prepared to kill and move on should your location get compromised. The key to success is being willing to adapt. The plans are always good and should be followed, but if it's a matter of following the plan or getting away, get away. You can't see the beauty of complete success without getting away and then watching the chaos from your perfect vantage point."_

The voice was clearly modulated. Would Ahrendson have actually known this person or was it all done like this? Who knew, but they had the voice of someone who was giving advice on how to get away with murder.

"We have our master serial killer," Sacks said.

"Don't jump the gun."

"I'm not. That's who this is. The question is, who is it?"

"Bag that and we'll get a team in here to do the rest of the cleanup. This needs to be our focus. We need to check this number and see if we can clean up the voice, too," Fornell said.

"And tell NCIS about what we found."

"When we _know_ what we've found. Not right now."

Fornell pulled out his phone and called back to get a full team in. He didn't get a chance to make the request.

" _Fornell, there's been another murder."_

"What? Already? Why didn't Gibbs call me?"

" _Because he didn't call us, either. It's on the news. NCIS is on the scene. Someone drowned and you said fear of boats."_

Fornell swore. "And the media's got it now?"

" _Well, they have the murder. They don't know the serial killer part of it...yet."_

"Yeah, it's only a matter of time before some 'anonymous source' comes out of the woodwork. All right. Where?"

" _Diamond-Teague Park. You going over there?"_

"Have to stop at the office first. We found a phone with a voice mail _and_ a phone number."

" _Great!"_

"But then, we'll go over. And we need a full team sent to the apartment to go through it all with a fine-tooth comb."

" _I'll get them moving."_

"Thanks."

Fornell hung up and looked at Sacks.

"Another one?" he asked.

"Yep. In the water."

"Okay."

They headed off to see what there was to learn.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was sitting at his desk, watching the ZNN coverage of the latest murder. They had next to no information but that didn't stop them from talking about it.

" _So far, all we've been told is that the man was found in the water. No identification will be made until they have the chance to inform any family he might have."_

Then, there was a bit of a flurry of activity as a car pulled up to the scene. Tim saw Fornell and Sacks get out and walk over to the barricade and then get admitted, with a few journalists calling after him to explain why the FBI was there.

" _Well, this is a new development. Two FBI agents have just arrived on the scene. They haven't answered any questions as to why the FBI would be investigating a simple murder, but we'll give you more news as we get it."_

"Tim, why are you watching that?"

Tim looked away from the TV at Tony.

"Why not?"

"Because you know that whatever they have to say will likely be exaggerated for ratings."

"So? They don't think they need to keep things from me, at least."

"McGee, you're really starting to tick me off," Tony said.

Tim found that he could smile at that.

"Why? Because I'm not letting you make me incompetent?"

"That's not what we're doing and you know it. You don't want to see this stuff, either, and we're not keeping anything important from you." Then, Tony's expression changed. "Why are you acting like this?"

Tim felt any satisfaction he'd felt from needling Tony leech away and he sighed.

"Misery loves company?" he suggested, finally.

Tony walked over and perched on Tim's desk.

"Tim, how many times will it take for you to believe what we're telling you? It could have been me this guy picked, not you."

"And then, the victims would have been different," Tim said. "He wouldn't have picked two people on the verge of getting married if it had been you. Whether you're scared of never getting married or not, no one would think you are. It's because of who he thinks _I_ am, and no amount of repetition is going to change that. Tony, just by existing, I'm partially to blame."

"No! Stop thinking like that."

Tim looked past Tony to the TV again.

"When they figure out that it's about me, do you think that I'll be considered a hero? I'll bet I'm blamed. Guilt by association."

"So? Who cares what a bunch of talking heads think?"

"I do," Tim said, honestly. "And so would you if it happened to you."

"DiNozzo."

Tony turned away and looked at Gibbs.

"They've got the contact information. We're going to inform the family."

Tony grimaced.

"Okay."

Then, he got up to leave, but he paused.

"Tim, you've got to stop this. It'll only make things worse than they are."

Tim nodded, but as Tony left, he couldn't help feeling that he was getting off far too lightly as it was.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Man, this guy is starting to tick me off," Balboa muttered under his breath.

"Who? The killer or the reporter who keeps shouting questions at us?" Jensen asked.

Balboa grimaced and glanced over. Some eager-beaver journalist had not yet learned that timing was key when trying to get information. He would not be getting any answers with that attitude.

"Both, now that you mention it," he said. "There's a note and I can see McGee's name, but we can't read it until Ducky gets to check out the body."

Torrance walked over from talking to the person who had found the body.

"Well?" Balboa asked.

Torrance looked at her notes. "Larry Addison. He says that he comes here every week just to walk along the river. He didn't see anyone around, but he was looking over the railing and saw a hand sticking out from under the walkway. He jumped in and got the body out, but he'd been in the water a long time already, probably a few hours at least."

"Looks like it," Balboa agreed. "Ducky will have to confirm, but this guy didn't drown recently."

"Did he even drown?" Jensen asked. "Didn't the clue talk about boats, not water?"

"Last I checked, boats are on water, Jensen," Balboa said.

"Yeah, and he's interpreting these things pretty liberally, isn't he?" Torrance asked. "I mean, with the maggots, they weren't the cause of death. He just sent the hand with them to McGee. And not being married didn't kill that couple. Who's to say that he didn't just mean for us to find Ensign Calderwood near a boat dock? Boats are around, whether they're the cause of death or not."

For not the first time, Balboa was glad he'd agreed to take Torrance on. She was always a surprise. Even after knowing her for nearly a year, he still sometimes let her appearance distract him from how sharp she was.

"Ducky's just getting here," Jensen said, pointing over to Ducky and Jimmy weaving their way through a few reporters.

"Isn't that Agent Fornell, there?" Torrance asked, pointing at a car that had also pulled up nearby.

"Looks like it," Balboa said. "Great. More reason for the press to wonder what's going on."

The motley crew made their way down to the dock.

"Glad you're here, Ducky. There's another note. I can see McGee's name on it, but I can't read the whole thing," Balboa said.

"Glad to be of service, Joseph," Ducky said. "I'm sure this man has been moved?"

"Yeah. Guy pulled him out of the water."

"Of course. Can't be helped."

He knelt down and began his investigation.

"Fornell, what are you doing here?"

"Got a report of another body, thought it was probably our guy again. Is it?"

"There's a note," Balboa said, grudgingly. "Just waiting for Ducky to finish so we can get it out."

"What do you know?"

"That he was fished out of the river, was wedged under the walkway. And I know that if that reporter over there keeps shouting out questions, I'm much more liable to punch his lights out than answer a single one of them."

"Navy?"

"Yeah. Ensign Jeremiah Calderwood."

They stood quietly for a few minutes while Ducky and Jimmy worked.

"Now, you may remove the note," Ducky said, finally.

"Time of death?"

"Impossible to say from the liver temperature. Suffice it to say that he's been in the water long enough that his body is the same temperature as the river. I'll have to see what else we can find when we get him back to Autopsy."

"Cause of death?"

"No sign of a gunshot wound. No sign of stabbing," Jimmy said. "And no obvious trauma."

"I see no marks around the neck to indicate strangulation. It may be that he truly did drown, but we'll have to see," Ducky added.

"All right. The sooner you can get him taken care of and out of the public eye, the better," Balboa said.

Then, he knelt down and carefully pulled the note from where it had been secured to Ensign Calderwood's pocket and looked at it.

"Waterproof seal. Man, who plans like this?" he asked.

"What does it say?" Sacks asked.

" _He probably wishes he had a boat. What scares you, Agent McGee? Glossophobia._ What's that?"

"Glossa, meaning _tongue_ in Greek," Ducky said. "Fear of speech?"

"Public speaking," Jimmy said. "Sometimes, it's considered more of a social phobia than anything."

"Well, Timothy does tend to get nervous in those situations. I would not label it as a fear, necessarily."

"How is this guy figuring all this out about him anyway?" Sacks asked. "This isn't a casual conversation being overheard. This guy seems to have been watching him."

"Perhaps for the two months in between Ahrendson's death and when he sent the note," Ducky said. "No one expected another killer, still less one that might have been watching Timothy quite intently. Unless he was blatant about it, Timothy wouldn't be likely to notice. He certainly wouldn't be watching for it."

"You think we could find some way to keep Tim from seeing this one?" Jensen asked. "Every time I see him, he looks like someone's walking over his grave."

"Doubtful," Ducky said. "Timothy has determined that he'll be held back as little as possible."

"But he hates it, too," Jensen said.

"Yes, he does, William."

"He's afraid that he doesn't deserve to be agent if he can't deal with it," Torrance said.

"How do you know that?" Balboa asked.

"When I went down to the other crime scene with him, he said that if he can't handle what's happening then he shouldn't be in this job. It's a test and he's afraid of failing it."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Tim was awake well into the night. He'd gone into Ducky's spare room early, but he couldn't sleep. He'd gone down to Autopsy and seen Ensign Calderwood. Another victim of his fears. Another to add to the list. That was four so far. How many more could there be?

_At least one more. There was another note._

With that thought, he got out of bed. It was after midnight, but he just couldn't sleep. Quietly, he let himself out of the bedroom and walked into the study. Books lined the shelves and Tim sat down, staring at them. Wanting some escape from his current life but seeing no way to find it. After a few minutes, he stood up and walked along the shelves, running his fingers along the books, wondering if any of the titles would grab his attention.

Then, his searching fingers fell upon a book he hadn't seen since high school English class. _Macbeth_. He pulled it off the shelf and sat down again. He flipped through it, not really reading anything in particular. Then, he stopped on one of the few parts he remembered from high school, Macbeth's soliloquy in Act 5.

Not sure why, he started to read it, in a whisper.

"She should have died hereafter;  
There would have been a time for such a word.  
— To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,  
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,  
To the last syllable of recorded time;  
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools  
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!  
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player  
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage  
And then is heard no more. It is a tale  
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury  
Signifying nothing."

Tim sighed and closed the book. He leaned back in the chair and stared up at the ceiling of the room. He closed his eyes and, for the first time in a few weeks, his mind went back to the Ahrendson and all the people he'd killed. He'd felt responsible, and while he'd started to put off that feeling before, with a new serial killer now, he couldn't help but feel as though it was just verifying that it had been his fault before and it was his fault now. He had no special training in dealing with serial killers. It had been a fluke that he'd been able to figure out the pattern Ahrendson had used. And even at that, it had taken him plenty long to do it. He wasn't some kind of mind-reading genius. He was just a regular agent. Murders, yes, but not serial killers.

And what would he say if the families of those four people came and wanted an explanation for why their family members had been killed?

"Oh, it wasn't my fault. Just bad luck. Too bad, right? Yeah, right," Tim muttered at the ceiling.

He just didn't want anyone else to die because of this. Every new death was like a turn of the screw, making things ever worse than they had been before.

"Just stop," he whispered. "Why are you doing this?"

He opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling.

"I'd do anything to stop this."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky woke up earlier than usual in an attempt to catch Tim before he went to work. For one thing, it was ridiculous that he was continually trying to avoid talking about what was happening. For another, it was equally ridiculous that he rushed to work early and then spent the day stewing about what might happen next. Every day was worse and nothing seemed able to help it get better... in large measure because Tim himself was convinced that nothing would help.

He got ready and then went downstairs. The spare room door was open already, and Ducky sighed. Had Tim really got up _that_ early? He started toward the kitchen but then, he noticed that there was a light on in the study. He walked in and saw Tim slumped down in a chair, looking singularly uncomfortable, but asleep. Had he been there all night?

"Timothy, that looks like a very uncomfortable position to sleep in," Ducky said, shaking him gently.

Tim snorted a little bit and then came awake very suddenly, looking around with his eyes half open.

"Timothy, did you sleep here all night?"

Tim looked confused for a few seconds, but Ducky could see exactly when the current reality sunk in. Tim looked like a heavy weight had settled on his shoulders.

"Not... _all_ night," he said. "I came in here around 12:30. Don't know when I fell asleep."

"That doesn't sound like you got enough sleep."

Tim shook his head.

"I didn't, but I'm not being allowed to do anything at work anyway, so it doesn't really matter."

He stood up and stretched and then walked by Ducky to the spare room and then into the bathroom. Ducky decided that, regardless of the rest of the situation, Tim needed to eat a regular breakfast. He might resist once he was more awake, but he needed to eat _something_ and it might as well be something substantial, given the fact that he hadn't seen Tim follow much of a schedule since he'd been forced to leave his apartment.

Then, he heard Tim come out of the bathroom and he hurried into the hall to make sure he kept Tim from leaving too precipitously.

"Timothy, I hope you're not in a hurry this morning," he said.

"Well, I kind of am," Tim said.

"Will you indulge me this once and join me for breakfast?"

Ducky could see that Tim didn't want to, but finally, he sighed and nodded.

"Sure. Okay."

"Excellent. It's nothing fancy, but I think you need something more than just coffee and a doughnut."

Tim managed a slight smile. "The last one had sprinkles."

"Not that I would dare disparage the nutritional content of a sprinkle," Ducky said, smiling back, "but I find it hard to believe that it's better than oatmeal."

"Probably not," Tim said.

They sat down and ate breakfast in the kitchen, and Ducky chose not to ask any questions or speak about the case at all. He would rather see Tim get some of his physical needs met, even if his psychological needs were not.

Tim didn't really talk, either. His mind was likely on the case and who would be killed next, not on small talk. Even so, he did eat everything. Absentmindedly, yes, but he ate it all. After he finished, he stood up.

"Thanks for breakfast, Ducky. I'd better get going."

He carried his dish to the sink and started out of the kitchen.

"Timothy, wait."

Tim stopped but didn't turn around.

"I don't think it's a good idea to carpool. Our schedules usually aren't the same. So I'll just see you there." He started out again.

"Timothy."

Tim stopped again.

For a long moment, there was no sound, but then, Tim turned around.

"Ducky, I'd do anything if it made this guy stop killing people. Anything. But I don't know who he is! I never noticed anyone watching me! I would have said something if I had!"

"Timothy, this isn't your fault. There's nothing you can do to stop a killer except catch him and, thankfully, you don't have to do it on your own. Many minds are bent to this very task. You have to stop taking the responsibility onto yourself."

Tim shook his head. "They're my fears, Ducky. He picked me for a reason, and maybe he would still have killed if he'd picked anyone else, but _these_ people being killed are because he picked me. You can't change that."

"But it's not your fault. _You_ are not doing the killing or the choosing. Timothy, you are simply the excuse he is using to kill."

"But he's still using _me_ , not anyone else." Tim looked at his watch. "I've got to go and see what else he's done."

Then, Tim left the kitchen and Ducky heard the door open and close. He sighed. He knew that Tim was bad about that. He often took responsibility far too much to heart and he was unable to keep from blaming himself for what happened.

_Of course, sometimes, it actually was his fault and sometimes, he was helped in blaming himself._

And Tim was also one who felt he needed to be punished when he found himself guilty. He couldn't stand back and let the chips fall. He needed to be involved even though it usually only made him feel worse.

He prayed that they would get a break in the case sooner rather than later.

He just wasn't sure that Tim would be able to handle the strain he was putting on himself.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Sorry, Fornell. It's a burn phone."

Fornell swore.

"Well, if he's really as good as he seems, then, a phone number would probably be too easy anyway," he said. "Did you manage to clean up the voice?"

"Yeah. It's a fairly simple modulator. One that anyone can buy and use."

"Let me hear it."

"Okay."

The technician played back the voice mail with the modulation removed. No, it was unlikely that he'd be able to recognize the voice, but Fornell liked knowing as much as possible about the person he was targeting, and when the actual voice was available, he'd take it.

" _I approve of your choice. Be prepared to kill and move on should your location get compromised. The key to success is being willing to adapt. The plans are always good and should be followed, but if it's a matter of following the plan or getting away, get away. You can't see the beauty of complete success without getting away and then watching the chaos from your perfect vantage point."_

The voice lost the mysterious distortion and became very ordinary. The voice was low but not a rumbling bass, more baritone. It wasn't nasal or gravelly. It really did seem like a normal voice...except for what the voice was saying.

"I can't hear any noticeable accent," Sacks said. "Have you had any linguists listen to this?"

The tech just laughed. "Do you realize what time it is and when I got this done? You're the first people to hear it, Sacks."

Sacks smiled. "Any background sounds?"

"Not that I can hear for certain, but I'm still working on it."

"Perfect vantage point," Fornell said, musing. "He wants to be around to see what he did, to see the fallout. Right now, we could walk right by him on the street and we wouldn't have any idea."

"You think we have?" Sacks asked.

"He says it himself. The purpose is to get that thrill from seeing the damage he caused. He wants to see what he's done. He wants to see _us_ getting stumped."

"It's not about us, though," Sacks said. "It's about Agent McGee."

Fornell nodded.

"And Agent McGee hasn't been at all of the crime scenes, and I know Gibbs is going to try to keep him away from any others that we have."

"So how would he get that thrill? If he's been watching Agent McGee enough to know what he's scared of, wouldn't he realize that killing civilians would guarantee that Agent McGee wouldn't be involved, at least in the initial investigation?"

"Good point, Ron." Fornell stood up. "Keep working on that," he said to the technician.

"Will do. You'll know."

"I'd better." Then, he walked out with Sacks following along. "He's been too smart so far to make that kind of fundamental mistake, so he must have had a plan in mind, some way that he can see the results."

"Could he been in NCIS?" Sacks suggested.

"An employee?" Fornell asked. "That might be too much of a coincidence, even for me."

"If he was new, though. He could have a maintenance job."

"True."

It was worth checking out. No fewer than three FBI teams were focused on figuring out who this guy was. They had profilers building up a description of what they could see so far. They had agents trying to find any similarities to other unsolved murders around the country since he claimed to be the _master_. It stood to reason that he might genuinely be a successful serial killer, one so successful that people might not have realized that there had been a serial killer at work at all.

They needed to find something.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

For the next few days, it felt like things were stalling out. They just weren't getting the kind of information that they needed to track their serial killer down. Part of the problem was that they just had no idea how he would interpret the clue he gave them. A fear of public speaking, but how public did he mean? How serious would it be? Would he kill someone who _was_ speaking in public or would he kill someone who _never_ spoke in public?

And this time, the delay didn't make anyone relax, either. The FBI had built a fairly substantial profile of who the killer might be, but at the same time, without any indication of an actual identification, all it meant was that they had every evidence that the killing would continue without any way of getting through it. The one thing the profilers had said was that this was not just something random that could continue indefinitely. This was something very carefully planned out and that whatever the end goal was, there would be a point at which the killing did stop. Tim had been interviewed and forced to give every possible weakness he had that might be construed as a fear, opening up his private life to detailed analysis in a way he'd never had before.

The other problem was that someone had leaked the serial killer story to the media and now it was on 24/7. Tips began pouring in, and not a single one led to anything substantial. Criticisms of law enforcement's failure to find the killer were common and the families of those who had been killed lent tear-filled interviews to the airwaves.

And through it all, Tim began to get more and more quiet. No shouting, no protesting that he needed to be more involved in the case. In fact, it was almost like he wasn't even seeing what was happening. Gibbs was glad to see Tim calming down, but Tony didn't like it. Tim had got quiet once before...shortly before Tony had found him drinking himself to death at a bar. It had fooled Tony before, just like it seemed to be fooling Gibbs this time, but Tony wasn't fooled, not this time. Tony began watching Tim more closely, just to make sure he didn't start drinking again. ...but that didn't happen, either. Tim was just very quiet.

And then, more than a week after Ensign Calderwood's body had been pulled from the river, another body was found.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I was supposed to be off today," Lee complained.

"They said it was important that you and I did this one," Nolan said.

"Why?"

"Don't know. I guess they decided we needed a surprise."

"I don't like surprises when it comes to murders," Lee said. "I want cut-and-dried, no messiness."

"You're in the wrong job, then," Nolan said.

"Yeah, you're telling me. In here?"

"Yep."

They walked into a small one-bedroom apartment.

"Manager said that he was a shut-in. Paid his rent somehow, but never left. Even had groceries delivered," Nolan said.

"In the bedroom," the officer on duty said.

They walked back and found a man lying on the bed. The M.E. was already there.

"There's a note, Nolan. On the table," he said, pointing.

"A note," Lee said. "You don't think that..."

Nolan just walked over, putting on gloves as he did. He picked up the piece of paper.

" _He'll never speak again, will he. What scares you, Agent McGee? Hypengyophobia._ "

"What?"

"That's what it says," Nolan said. "Look."

Lee looked at the word and furrowed his brow. "Is that even a real word? It looks made up."

"Hasn't made up any others so far."

"Hypengyophobia," Lee said, stumbling over the syllables. "I have no idea."

Nolan pulled out his phone and typed the word in.

"'Abnormal fear of responsibility,'" he read.

Lee sighed. "I'm getting a headache."

"Then, I guess you're safe," Nolan said.

"Huh?"

"That's not what this fear is about. So he probably won't kill you next. You certainly aren't afraid of responsibility."

"Ha. Very funny. Guess we should tell NCIS and the FBI about it."

"Yep. Cause of death, doc?"

"Suffocation is what I'd guess based on what I'm seeing here. There was a pillow over his face, according to the manager. He took it off when he saw the guy inside."

"Why did he come in?"

"Guess they had some kind of arrangement for him to pay his rent without having to leave his apartment. Manager came to get rent and when he didn't answer, the manager chose to use his keys to come in and check on him."

"How long, doc?"

"A couple days, maybe a little more. Rigor appears to be ending, but the body is still pretty rigid, so not much longer than that."

Nolan nodded and then pulled out his phone. He little relished being the bearer of bad news, but NCIS would need to know that there was another victim.

" _Agent DiNozzo."_

"Agent DiNozzo, this is Detective Nolan with Metro."

A pause.

" _Another one?"_

"Yeah."

" _Who?"_

"Raymond Sutton. A shut-in. Smothered with a pillow, and there was a note on the bedside table."

A long sigh.

" _What's the new one?"_

"Hypengyophobia."

" _What's that?"_

"Fear of responsibility."

" _Oh. You'll send us your report?"_

"Yeah. Everything we find. The guy had been dead a couple of days, according to the M.E."

Another sigh.

"How's Agent McGee taking it?"

" _Badly."_

"Sorry about that."

" _Me, too. Thanks for letting us know. You mind if we join you there or would you rather have the FBI?"_

"You can come over, but the death itself seems pretty simple. The context isn't, but a guy smothered by a pillow is pretty simple."

" _It just always helps to see it for myself."_

"You're welcome to join us."

" _Thanks."_

"And we're calling the FBI, too."

" _Okay. Thanks."_

Nolan hung up.

"They're coming over," he said.

"Fine by me. Want to let them take my spot?"

"Nope. Let's get to work."

"Yeah, yeah."

Mundane was the wrong word for it, but the deaths happened frequently enough, in strange ways, true, but still it was harder to become sensitive to it.

For some people, anyway.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Five people dead, another one threatened, and Tim found himself just sitting there, wondering what in the world he could do to stop it all from happening. The five victims were staring back at him from his computer monitor. Another victim in the offing, and still no ideas of who was to blame or why.

_Five people dead from what scares me. He's going to keep doing this until he finishes my fears. But where will that end be? How many times can he imagine something I'm scared of and kill yet another person? How many more people will he kill before he's done?_

He didn't know where anyone else was at the moment. And quite frankly, he didn't care. What he cared about was the fact that people kept dying and he couldn't seem to do anything about it. He just wanted this to stop.

And then, suddenly, the solution came to him. It was so obvious that he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it before.

There was a way to stop the killing whether they found the Wordsmith or not. He was focused on Tim... well, what if Tim wasn't there to focus on? It wouldn't do him any good to ask the question if Tim wasn't there to answer.

He wrote a very short message on a sticky note and left it on his desk.

Then, he walked out of the building.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony grimaced. If they found this guy, he would be fine with just killing him and saving everyone a lot of grief, just like with Ahrendson. In fact, he would be just fine with death by firing squad...before a trial. He walked into the bullpen and stopped.

Tim wasn't at his desk. His bag was gone.

For some reason, Tony felt like something was very wrong.

"Hey, Jensen, do you know where Tim is?"

Jensen looked up from his desk.

"No. He was at his computer about ten minutes ago. I saw him."

"Not there now."

"I don't know."

Tony walked over to Tim's desk and saw a note. He grabbed it and then started looking around the room.

_It's all my fault._

That was it.

He moved the mouse and turned back on the screen.

Tim had been looking at the victims. Again.

And Tim had been really quiet. Again.

Hadn't said a word to anyone. Again.

The last time this had happened, Tim had gone to a bar. Somehow, Tony didn't think it was going to be so simple this time.

Then, his phone at his desk started to ring. He ran over and answered it.

"Agent DiNozzo."

" _Agent DiNozzo, this is Grace Lamb, the NCIS Public Affairs Officer."_

"Yeah? What? I haven't done anything embarrassing lately," Tony said, but his heart wasn't really in the banter.

" _I got an email which has been addressed to you. I'll forward it to you with all the header information and I'll keep it until you tell me I don't need to, but given the case you've been working on the last few weeks, it might be important and I wanted to make sure you knew about it right away."_

"Oh. Thanks." He leaned over his computer and saw that he did, indeed, have an email from the PAO email address. "Got it."

" _Okay. That's all."_

"Thanks."

Tony hung up and opened the email.

The message was short.

_There's only one true victim, Agent DiNozzo. What scares you?_

Tony stared at the short message for far too long before it suddenly clicked in his head and he knew exactly what was going on, and he knew exactly what he was most afraid of at the moment.

"Jensen! Torrance!" Balboa wasn't there at the moment, but Tony didn't care if he was usurping another team. This was way more important.

"Yeah? What is it?" Jensen asked.

"I need one of you to start calling Tim's phone. If he answers, get him to tell you where he is. I don't think he'll answer, and so I need the other of you to go and get Abby and have her trace his phone."

"What's going on?" Torrance asked.

"I just got a message and it says there's only one victim. And Tim is gone."

Torrance paled. "You think that... that he's got Tim?"

"No. I think it's worse than that," Tony said grimly. "Tim left on his own."

Jensen got it first and quickly pulled out his phone. He dialed Tim's number and brought his phone up to his ear.

"No answer," he said after a few seconds.

"Keep calling back. Torrance?"

"On it. What about you?"

"I'm going to go out and find him. Gibbs is in a meeting with Vance and Fornell. When they come out, tell them," Tony said.

Then, he ran out of the building and to his car, noticing that Tim's car was also missing. No, he didn't think that the Wordsmith had taken Tim somewhere. He thought that Tim was alone.

Alone and feeling responsible for five murders.

All the fears had been Tim's fears.

Every victim had been killed under the guise of Tim's fears. But every message was about Tim.

And if there was only one true victim...

The thoughts ran rampant through Tony's head, and he didn't know why he was so sure, but he was.

His phone rang as he was driving.

" _Tony, Abby says that Tim's phone is at his apartment and she's been screeching at me to tell her what's going on. What do I say?"_

"Tell her that I hope it's nothing."

" _But you know it's not?"_

"Yeah, pretty much. Thanks."

Tony had already been kind of heading toward Silver Spring, almost out of habit, so he was glad to know that he was almost there. He drove as fast as he could over to Tim's building. Then, he got out of the car and hurried up to Tim's apartment. The door was closed. The police tape was still there but twisted up.

He tried the door.

The knob turned.

He went inside.

"Tim?"

No answer.

He couldn't see Tim out in the main room. There was only one other place he could be.

Tony walked back to the bedroom.

"Tim?"

There he was.

Tim was sitting on his bed with his eyes tightly closed.

He was holding his gun in his hands.

And he was pointing it at his face.

"Tim, don't do it," Tony said.

Tim opened his eyes but didn't look at him, and he gave the worst parody of a laugh Tony had ever heard.

"Why do you always show up when I really don't want you to?"

"Because you really do, even if it's deep down. You want me here."

"Go away, Tony. Just leave."

"No. I'm not going to do that, and you know that I won't do that," Tony said, his heart in his throat. "Put the gun down, Tim."

"No. No, this will stop it, Tony. If he can't focus on me, then, he won't keep killing."

"No, Tim. Then, he'll just move on to someone else," Tony said. "Put the gun down."

"No. It came to me today. How selfish am I to keep living when people are dying because of me? When one more death could stop it all?"

Tim was still staring toward the floor. ...toward his gun which was still pointed directly at his face. Tony took another step into the room, but he was cautious. He didn't want to make Tim do anything drastic because he thought that Tony was going to stop him.

The worst thing was that Tony could see that same quietness in Tim that he'd had when he'd got drunk. There was no yelling, not crying. Nothing. It was quiet. Everything was too overwhelming, too much to deal with and so he'd withdrawn until he'd come up with a solution. Before, the solution had been to get drunk and he had snuck out and done it, trying to deal with it alone. Now, he'd come up with another solution, and he'd gone to do it without asking for anyone's input. It was all about what he had decided. Alone.

"One more death won't stop it, Tim. What's been happening is not your fault. What's been happening is that a psycho is killing people. It's not you."

"Yes, it is me," Tim said, finally showing a little bit of emotion. The gun started to shake in his hands. "Stop saying it's not me. It is. I know it. You know it. It's me. It's me. It's me, okay? It's me!"

"No. It's not your fault. It's not, Tim. No matter how much you might feel it is right now, it's not. It doesn't matter how many notes he leaves for you. It doesn't matter how many people he kills. It's not your fault. It's his. Not yours."

The standoff lingered for a few silent minutes. Tim still wouldn't look at Tony. He was still pointing his gun at his own head, and Tony didn't dare run at him and grab the gun for fear that it would go off whether Tim really wanted it to or not.

"I'm such a coward," Tim said. "I know what would fix things and I can't do it. I'm sitting here, trying to eat a bullet, but I can't pull the trigger."

"That's because you know it's wrong, Tim."

"No. That's not it."

Tony forced himself to smile. "Yes, it is. And the reason I know that is because you're way too smart not to know that."

Another silent minute, but the gun was shaking a little.

"It needs to stop, Tony. It needs to be over. If I'm dead, it'll be over for me, no matter what else."

"No, Tim. We need you to be here."

"No, you don't. You don't need me. I haven't done anything worthwhile in weeks. I'm dead weight."

"No, you're not. You've done what you could."

"And it's not enough. Nothing is enough. Nothing is going to stop him. Except this."

"No, Tim. What will stop him is us finding him. And we will."

"No. Just leave, Tony."

"No way. I'm going to stand right here and watch. So, guess what, Tim. If you decide to go through with it, you'll have to die knowing that you made it harder for me. Do you want me to feel like you're feeling?"

"That's a low blow."

"So is what you're doing. You're too strong to take this way out, Tim," Tony said. "You've fought back too many times to have this be what you choose."

The gun started shaking more, but Tim said nothing for another minute or two. Then, suddenly, he dropped his head and covered it with both hands as he leaned over, almost bent in half, and he started to sob. The gun was still clenched in his hand, but he wasn't pointing it at himself for the moment.

"I-I just w-w-want the killing to stop," Tim wept. "I'd do...anything to make it s-stop."

"Tim, I'm going to sit down by you, okay?" Tony said.

Tim didn't answer, so Tony took that as a yes.

Carefully, he sat down beside Tim on the bed.

"I d-don't want anyone else... to d-die because of... of me," Tim said through his tears. "I want this to... to be... over. I can't... can't... I can't take this... Tony. I can't."

Tim was almost hyperventilating. The danger was not over yet. Tim could still let his near-hysteria drive him to shoot himself.

"Tim, let me take the gun, okay?"

"No! I don't..." Tim couldn't even finish the sentence.

"Just let me take the gun, Tim. Then, we can talk about it some more," Tony said, trying to keep calm. "Come on, Tim. Let me have the gun."

"We don't... know who he is, Tony," Tim said, between gasps for breath. "We don't... don't even know... what... he looks... like. We c-c-can't stop him. But... if I'm dead..."

"Then, you'll just be dead, Tim. That won't stop him," Tony said. "Don't give him another victim."

Tim was still sobbing, and Tony wasn't sure if Tim had even heard him that time. He didn't dare grab the gun even now because it might go off accidentally. He could see that the safety was off.

"Tim, let me have the gun. Just let go of it," he said again.

"My... fear... Tony," Tim said. "It's all my fault."

"It's not your fault, Tim. That's what everyone keeps telling you. It's not your fault."

Tim was still sobbing with his hands over his head, gun clenched tightly in one hand. Tony took a chance and put a hand on Tim's back, some physical contact to hopefully break through the panic and terror that had led Tim to this point.

"Tim, listen to me. Really listen to me. You do _not_ have to die to stop this from happening again. In fact, the best thing you can do is live because this is what that psycho wants. He wants you to die. Don't let him win."

It was so tempting to just grab the gun so that the standoff would be over, but Tony knew that Tim was still unstable enough that he could still fire and Tony had no intention of becoming a victim himself or of watching Tim kill himself.

Still, with one hand on Tim's back Tony leaned forward and put his other hand in front of Tim so he could see it.

"Give me the gun, Tim," he said, yet again.

A long pause, and then, _finally_ , Tim lowered the gun and put it in Tony's hand. Tony quickly put the safety back on, unloaded it and then set it out of reach. And then, he pulled Tim up into a more erect position and put his arm around Tim's shoulders.

Tim just slumped over onto him.

"I just can't...deal with it, Tony," he said, the tears ebbing slightly. "I'm a failure. I'm not an agent. I'm incompetent. I can't do this."

"It's okay, Tim. It's okay. Now, it's okay," Tony said, letting out a long slow exhalation, relieved that this had worked.

Still with one arm around Tim, he pulled out his phone and called Gibbs.

" _You found him?"_

"Yeah," Tony said.

" _Were you right?"_

"Yeah."

" _In time?"_

"Yeah."

" _What do you need?"_

"Ducky."

" _On our way."_

"Tell Jensen and Torrance, okay?"

" _Will do."_

"Thanks."

" _And Tony?"_

"Yeah?"

" _Good job."_

For just a moment, Tony felt his own throat tighten up, but he swallowed that.

"Thanks."

He hung up and put his phone away. Then, he turned his attention back to Tim. Part of him was furious that Tim would try this. Another part was angry at himself that he hadn't realized that this was how Tim always was when things got bad. He kept it to himself, tried not to show how bad it was and then it erupted all at once when he couldn't hold it back anymore. It was just that this one had been so bad that the eruption could have been fatal.

"Tim, you'll get through this. You will."

Tim shook his head but didn't speak. The initial breakdown was over and he was gradually beginning to calm, but he clearly hadn't changed his mind.

"Yes, you will because I'm not going to let you give up. I don't care what it takes. I don't care how long. You're not giving up. Got it?"

Tim sat there without answering, and Tony didn't bother saying anything else. He had no idea what else to say, but he also had no intention of leaving Tim alone even for a second and so they just sat there in silence until Ducky and Gibbs arrived. Tony heard them come in and he called out.

"Back here!"

In a moment, Ducky was there sitting down on the other side of Tim, and Tony was relieved to have someone else there who could help.

"Anthony, I've already called a friend of mine and he's ready to admit Timothy on suicide watch for the next day or two. Timothy, is that all right?"

"It won't make any difference," Tim whispered. "It doesn't change reality."

"No, it doesn't," Ducky said, looking at Tony over Tim's head. "But it helps you see what reality truly is. You may not realize it, Timothy, but what you see now is not reality. Will you come with me?"

Tim just nodded, although Tony could see that he had no hope of it helping.

"Good."

Ducky urged Tim to stand, and it was almost a surprise to realize that Tim _could_ stand, that the damage wasn't physical. Tim seemed so lifeless, so weak and defeated that the fact that he could stand and walk under his own power seemed wrong.

Nevertheless, he stood and walked with Ducky out into the main room where Gibbs was waiting.

"Jethro, could you drive us to the hospital?"

"Yeah, Duck. Give us a minute, okay?"

"Of course. We'll be outside."

Gibbs just nodded and skewered Tony with a look that said he needed to stay behind. As soon as Ducky and Tim were gone, Tony sank down onto a stool and dropped his head to the countertop. Then, he let out his breath in a whoosh.

"I wasn't sure I'd be able to talk him down, Boss," Tony said in a soft voice. "You get the training, but I've never had to put it into practice before...not with someone I knew. How did I miss this? I was watching him. I didn't think he was okay, but I didn't even consider suicide as a possibility. Tim wouldn't do that, but he was going to. I thought, at worst, he might go and drink too much again. Like before. How did I miss it?"

He heard Gibbs pull out a stool and sit down beside him. Then, in much the same way as Tony had done to Tim, Gibbs put his hand on Tony's back.

"I missed it, too. I missed more than you."

"If I ever am in the same room with this Wordsmith... I'm going to kill him for what he did to Tim. All this time, the people he killed...and it was just so that he could get to Tim, so that he could manipulate him enough get him to kill himself." Tony swore feelingly.

"You did good, Tony. You stopped him. Focus on that."

"But I didn't change his mind. I just got him to stop for now."

"If you hadn't done that, he wouldn't have a chance to change his mind later."

Tony forced himself to sit up. He tried to smile.

"Well, I'm not the one needing the hospital, Boss. I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Gibbs said, bluntly. "You're not fine any more than McGee is fine. Take your car. Meet us there. Then, stay with me or Ducky tonight."

Tony wanted to reject the offer. He wanted to say that Gibbs was reading too much into it. He wanted to say that there was way too much to do in finding the Wordsmith to worry about whether or not Tony was fine.

He wanted to, but he couldn't because it was all a lie. He was _glad_ to have someone make the offer and he knew he'd be stupid to reject it. And with Tim in the state he was, Tony knew that it would only make things worse if he didn't take care of himself.

"Okay."

"Good. Let's go."

They left Tim's apartment. Ducky got Tim checked into the hospital in the psychiatric wing. Then, Tony went to Gibbs' place and bedded down for the night, relieved to know that Tim was still alive, that at least, the Wordsmith hadn't managed to claim a sixth victim.

Yet.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Tim stayed on suicide watch for the next two days. During that time, no one got to see him, but Ducky received reports from his friend and was told that Tim was having numerous sessions with a psychiatrist.

Everyone at NCIS seemed to know what had happened, at least the broad strokes, but it was Balboa's team who grabbed Tony and asked to know the details. Because they had been in on everything, Tony felt he couldn't keep it from them. Vance also was told and he accepted it with a degree of equanimity that Tony was envious of.

And then, there was the case. While Tim's near suicide was a shock that gripped NCIS, they still hadn't caught the Wordsmith and it became more important than ever to stop him. He had gone after one of their own, in a way that seemed especially heinous. There was a determination that hadn't been felt before. It wasn't that they hadn't want to find him and stop him before, but now, it was personal.

Then, on Tim's third day in the hospital, Tony got a call to come and talk to him in the evening.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Tim, are you sure that you're ready to talk about this?" Dr. Saunders asked.

Tim took a breath. "I have to be."

"No, you don't. I can relay any message."

"No. Tony will need to ask questions and you're not the one with the answers," Tim said. He took another breath. "My mental breakdown doesn't change reality. You've already told me that too many times to count."

Dr. Saunders smiled. "All right. If you're sure."

"I am."

"Okay. I'll get him."

Tim nodded. He wasn't sure how he felt at this moment. The guilt was still there. The anxiety was still there. He still had the feeling that he was right about what the Wordsmith would do if Tim was dead, but it was all more muted. His emotions were blunted at the moment and he was accepting that as a good thing.

But they still weren't allowing him to do anything alone when there might be danger of self-harm. He wasn't even allowed to shower alone and that was kind of embarrassing. He wasn't allowed to have a razor, either. He could feel that he was getting a little scruffy.

As he sat there, waiting for Tony to come in, Tim considered his situation. The isolation from the rest of the world, not knowing what was going on with anyone or anything, all he could do was think about himself and what he had almost done. And without that constant input of the case, he had calmed considerably. He had even tried to tell Dr. Saunders that he wasn't going to try to kill himself again, that they could just let him go, but while Dr. Saunders had claimed to believe him, Tim wasn't sure he did. And he was telling the truth. It wasn't just something he was saying to get out of the hospital. He really did feel better than he had. He didn't feel _great_ , but he didn't feel like death was the only option anymore. Since that was the reason he'd been brought here, shouldn't that be enough to let him go? ...apparently not.

Then, the door opened and Tony came in. He looked more than a little hesitant and Tim actually found that he could smile about it.

"Don't worry, Tony. Suicide isn't contagious."

"Not funny, Tim," Tony said.

"I know, but you can still come in and sit down."

Tony walked over to him and sat down.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. I told Dr. Saunders that I could just leave, but he wants me to stay for the week. Always harder to get out of a place like this than to get into it."

"I don't blame you for wanting to get out, but, Tim... you shouldn't rush it, not after what you almost did."

Tim nodded. He almost thanked Tony for stopping him, but at the last second, the words stuck in his throat. There was still a part of him that _wasn't_ happy about being stopped from doing the one thing that would have been successful.

"So why did you want me to come here?"

"I thought of something."

"What?"

"About six weeks ago... You know how I said that I couldn't figure out why he would have said I was afraid of getting married?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I figured it out, but I still don't really have the answer...and I can't check it out myself right now."

"Check what out?"

"He must have been listening to me in my apartment somehow."

"What?"

"About six weeks ago, Sarah and I were talking on the phone and..." Tim paused, suddenly embarrassed about the topic of conversation.

"What, Tim?"

"Well... she asked me about why I wasn't married and she asked me if it was something I wanted. I said that it was, but it just didn't seem to be working out so far. Maybe it would eventually. And I hoped it would. Don't you see? I gave him a reason to think that I was afraid of never getting married, Tony. And there's no way he could have known about that unless he was listening somehow, either outside of the window, listening in, or else he broke into my apartment and put a microphone in there or something. It's been months since Jethro died and if he found a way to get in, there would have been nothing to stop him. If he didn't steal anything, I would never have known."

Tony was looking at him, and Tim found that he couldn't read Tony at all. He wouldn't blame Tony for being skeptical, though.

"Tony, I might be nuts right now, but that really did happen. You can even call Sarah and ask her if you want. All I'm asking is that you check out my apartment, see if you can find something, because if you can, maybe there will be fingerprints on it. Maybe you can trace whatever signal there must be and find out where he is. Something. Maybe _you_ can still stop him," Tim said and he felt that crushing guilt fall on him again. "Since _I_ can't do anything."

Tony reached out and squeezed Tim's arm.

"Hey, it's okay. What you're doing is important."

"It's selfish."

"No. It's like they say about people on planes. You can't help someone else with their oxygen mask if you're suffocating yourself. You put on your mask first and then you help others. You can't do everything right now, Tim. All you need to do is let these people help you and the more you do that, the sooner you'll get to leave and live your life."

Tim shook his head. "I don't know, Tony. I feel like I've pretty much ruined my life. They're not going to want me at NCIS after this. And I failed."

"You didn't fail. Why do you think you failed?"

"Because I couldn't handle the stress. He broke me down, Tony. He knew exactly how to get to me and he did. What kind of an agent am I that I couldn't handle it?"

"A human one. Just like the rest of us."

"No one else fell apart, not even Gibbs or Torrance and they both nearly got killed."

"No one else was being blamed for it," Tony said. He hesitated and Tim noticed the pause.

"What, Tony?"

"I don't know if this will make you feel better or worse."

"Well, try me out. They're not letting me handle any sharp objects at the moment."

Tony grimaced. "Still not funny."

"I wasn't trying to be," Tim said. "I'm serious. They're not. It's unnecessary, but they're not."

"Just before I went to your place, I got an email. It was a forward from the PAO."

"Public Affairs? What does that have to do with me?"

"She'd received an email addressed to me and she forwarded it to me. It was only two sentences."

"What were they?"

"It said that there was only one true victim and then it asked what I was afraid of. It wasn't signed, but..."

"But you think it was from the Wordsmith."

"Yeah. We haven't released the contents of the notes to the media. The only person who would know about it outside of the investigators is him."

"Okay. What does that have to do with me?"

"Tim, don't you get it? It's just like Ahrendson. He was trying to get you to kill yourself to save me and Susan. His whole purpose was to get you to do what you were going to do."

"Huh? How would he know that?"

"Because he'd watched you enough to know the things you might be afraid of. He would have known how to break you."

"Okay. Why?"

"Because you beat his student," Tony said.

"What do you mean? No, I didn't. I didn't figure out who Ahrendson was. I didn't stop him."

"Yeah, you did," Tony said, surprised that Tim would think that. "You nearly got killed in the process, but you're the one who stopped him."

"No, he was sloppy and he stopped himself. If he hadn't decided to focus on me, we would never have found him."

"Tim, don't you get it? I said it before. You're the hero. You saved my life and that little girl's life and stopped Ahrendson at the same time. This Wordsmith needs to get rid of you because you were better than his student."

Tim was looking at him very skeptically, and Tony saw more than ever that Tim really had been in a bad way even before this latest spate of killing. No one had thought it was a good idea to share out the name of the agent who had first put things together. For one thing, it was better to have it be a collaboration, but Tim hadn't wanted the credit, either. Now, Tony was seeing why. Tim didn't think he _deserved_ any credit for what he'd done. He didn't think it was anything good. Even though he'd started to get better, he still had the same outlook he'd had before: he'd failed because of all the people who had died before. And there just hadn't been enough time before this new serial killer had started to break him down.

But maybe there never would have been enough time. Maybe Tim really had been in a worse state than Tony had realized, maybe even than he had realized himself.

"I'm no hero, Tony. You're the hero. You keep it together. You get things done. And you don't make a distraction by falling apart."

"Tim, knock it off."

Tim smiled a little and then sighed.

"If this is what being crazy feels like, I don't get it. I feel mostly like myself. I mean, I feel terrible, but I still feel like I'm me."

"You're not crazy. You've had problems but that doesn't make you crazy."

"Ha. Doesn't it?" Tim asked. "According to you, I let a serial killer force me to try to kill myself. That doesn't sound like I'm a bastion of sanity."

"Actually, Tim, it's probably my fault you're like this."

Tim was more than a little surprised.

"Why would my breakdown be _your_ fault? You didn't do it."

"No, but I didn't pay enough attention. How often do we get told about the signs? How often do we get told to watch out for things like this? I should have pushed you to talk to someone about how you were feeling months ago. Maybe then, this Wordsmith wouldn't have got to you."

"Not your fault, Tony. I didn't know I'd be like this."

"You're going to be better, Tim," Tony said, suddenly.

He turned to Tim straight on and grabbed Tim by the shoulders. He even shook Tim a little bit.

I get that you're still feeling pretty crappy right now, but you're going to be better. You're going to get out of this way you're thinking and you're going to be back to normal. I don't care what it takes. It's going to happen. Got it?"

Tim wasn't sure how to take this vehemence from Tony. It was both surprising and (surprisingly) comforting.

"And we'll check out your apartment."

"Thanks."

Tony let him go and stood up. "It's going to be okay, Tim. Really. We're going to find this guy and we're going to stop him from killing anyone else."

Tim nodded and then watched as Tony left the room. Dr. Saunders came in right as Tony left. He walked over and sat down beside Tim.

"Well?" he asked.

"Well, what?" Tim asked in return, even though he knew what was being asked.

"How do you feel now that you talked to him?"

"Why do I have to feel anything? I was just passing along information that he needed to have."

"That's not all you were talking about. You didn't like being called a hero. Why not?"

"Because I'm not one. I shouldn't get credit for something I didn't do."

"What didn't you do?"

"I didn't stop him."

"Ahrendson?"

"Yeah. I didn't stop him. He basically killed himself."

"Like he was trying to get you to do."

Tim looked away.

"Tim, your friend credits you with saving his life."

Tim shook his head. "No. He's just saying that because he thinks I need to hear it, but he's wrong. I don't need to hear it."

"Or you don't _want_ to. I think you do need to hear it."

"Why? Why would I need to hear a lie?"

"Because it's not a lie and you need something to combat the lie you keep telling yourself."

"What lie?"

"That you're a failure, that you've done everything wrong. If you're a hero, you're not a failure, and right now, you can't accept that. We'll keep working on it."

Tim forced himself to smile, even as he sighed. "Why does that feel like a threat?"

Dr. Saunders smiled. "Because, deep down, you know that eventually, you'll have to admit that I'm right."

Tim's smile became a little less forced.

"Let's go talk about it some more."

"Okay."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Tony didn't delay at all. As soon as he left the hospital, he headed back to NCIS, ready to get to work. It was late, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to put this off one second. When he got to the bullpen, he looked over and saw Jensen sitting at his desk.

"Jensen, what are you doing here, still?"

Jensen looked up from his computer.

"I keep going over what we've found. There's got to be _something_ we're missing. No one is perfect. This guy has to have messed up somewhere."

"Well, Tim said that he thinks our killer had to be listening to him inside his apartment. I'm going to go and see if I can find something. Want to come?"

"What? When did you see Tim? I didn't think he was allowed any visitors yet."

"His shrink called me over because Tim had thought of something. Want to come with me to check it out?"

"Absolutely."

Jensen gladly stood up from his computer.

"What do you think we need?"

"Regular kit. That's it. Ever been to Tim's place before?"

Jensen smiled. "Nope. I've always pictured a computer store."

Tony grinned. "Pretty much. Well, a computer store combined with a library."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"That's... cool. I like it."

"Well, let's go."

They grabbed some gear and headed to Tim's apartment. Luckily, since it was still considered a crime scene, it was easy to get into the apartment.

"I see what you mean," Jensen said. "Here's the computer store and there's the library. I always thought Tim was a kind of a weird combination, but when you see it here, it's just part of who he is, isn't it."

"Yeah," Tony said, feeling anew the regret that anyone had been able to take Tim down so low.

"Did Tim say _where_ something like that might be?"

"Nope. Just that either he was outside listening in somehow or he broke into Tim's apartment and put a microphone or something."

Jensen nodded and looked around.

"If he was going to be listening in, it would have to be either in the bedroom or the main room somewhere. He'd want to be where he could actually think he'd hear something."

"I'll go out on the fire escape," Tony said. "You can start in here."

"Okay."

Tony climbed out and started checking for prints. He had to admit that he didn't have much hope for that, but they had to cover every avenue and he started to work, but he was only at it for five minutes.

"DiNozzo! Found something."

"You did?" Tony asked. He was shocked. If there was something to find, he had thought it would be better hidden than five minutes of work. He climbed back into the apartment.

Jensen was standing by Tim's bookcase, and he pointed up above his head. Tony saw it immediately. Hidden in plain sight was a small microphone. How well it worked was one thing, but the fact that it was even there at all was another. Tim had been right, and it was a relief to have Tim be right because that meant, even in the midst of his problems, he was still himself. It was a little thing but Tony would take what he could get.

"Prints?"

"Yeah."

"Is it on?"

"I...I don't know. No lights, but if he wanted it hidden, there wouldn't be any lights. Tim would notice something like that, no matter _what_ problems he was having."

"Right. That means he could be listening to us right now."

"But if he's been listening in, then, he'd know that Tim wasn't here. Why waste his time like that?" Jensen said.

"True."

Tony looked at the microphone and thought for a few minutes.

"Okay. We document it and then take it back to NCIS."

"Right."

Quickly, they documented the microphone, took note of the prints and then removed it from the shelf. Tony looked at it for a few seconds and then sighed.

"What?" Jensen asked.

"I almost looked for Tim so I could ask him whether or not we had to worry about it recording or transmitting or whatever. Habit."

"He's going to be okay, right?"

"Yes," Tony said, almost hoping that the killer _was_ listening. "Yeah, he's going to be fine."

"I hope so. This whole thing sucks big time. Tim was always checking on me when Donna and I first started having problems. It's not like we were ever really close friends, but he cared about how I was doing and that helped. He doesn't deserve this!"

"No, he doesn't."

"I had no idea, Tony. I mean, I tried to keep things to myself at first, but as soon as someone asked, when Tim asked, I talked about it. I knew Tim was having trouble, but I had no idea it was _that_ bad. He never said anything."

Tony nodded. It was about the same thing he'd thought, too.

"That's the way Tim is. He doesn't talk about it. He tries to do it himself, tries to keep it to himself until it all comes out at once."

"Until he can't hide it."

"Yeah. I didn't know it was this bad, either. I thought that he might do something stupid, but I never thought suicide," Tony said, his voice low.

"Some investigators we are," Jensen said, bitterly.

"No. We stopped him. He's okay, and he's going to be fine," Tony said. "And we're going to find out who did this."

Then, they bagged the microphone and finished checking the space. There was nothing else coming up, no camera or anything like that, so they quickly packed up and headed back to NCIS.

They were going to find this guy and let him know just how big a mistake it had been to go after Tim.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Gibbs looked over at Tim's empty desk. He felt horribly guilty for not realizing how bad this had been for Tim. Maybe he shouldn't have come back so soon. Maybe Tony would have noticed if he was still in charge. Tony had been there all through it. Maybe Gibbs was the problem.

It was hard to stop questioning.

"Jethro, I'm surprised you're still here. Surely, you need extra recovery time, even if you do have permission to be here working."

Gibbs didn't look away from Tim's desk.

"How did I miss this, Ducky?" he asked. "How did I not see it? I've been where Tim is. I know how bad it can be. Why didn't I see it?"

"Why didn't I when he was staying with me in my home?" Ducky asked. "Why didn't any of us realize it? Jethro, it's easy to start questioning. It's easy to start blaming, but please, remember that Timothy is still alive. He was found in time and stopped. Part of him didn't want to die and that kept him alive long enough for Anthony to talk him out of it."

"I shouldn't have come back so early. I didn't know how hard it was for Tim to deal with everything. Maybe if I hadn't been here..."

"No. Timothy has always been one to try to do it alone. He feels he has to, and in this case, he fooled us all by admitting to difficulty in the beginning. Because he admitted it initially, none of us realized how much worse it had become. Perhaps, he himself didn't realize it. Perhaps, his perception of reality became skewed so gradually that he didn't even notice how much it had changed."

"And _perhaps_ we could have stopped this before it got this bad...if we'd paid attention," Gibbs said.

"Perhaps, but we didn't. And yet, Timothy _was_ stopped before he got to the point of no return."

"He shouldn't have ever got that far!" Gibbs said, angrily. Then, he was irritated when his throat felt scratchy from overuse. He grabbed at his omnipresent water bottle and took a drink, still a little galled that it was _water_ he had to carry around.

"Of course not," Ducky said. "Jethro, many things happen that shouldn't. When they do happen, what we have to do is find a way to make sure that they don't happen again, to learn from them. Hopefully, Timothy is learning. That is something we all should do. Learn from our mistakes."

"And how many people will die before we learn?" Gibbs demanded.

The elevator dinged and Tony and Jensen got off.

"Boss, we got something. What are you doing here?" Tony asked, all in one breath.

"What do you got?"

"Tim told me that he thought that this guy must have been listening to him in his apartment. Jensen and I went there and found a microphone."

Gibbs sat up.

"What?"

"With prints on it, Agent Gibbs," Jensen said. "It was on his bookcase."

"A microphone in McGee's apartment?"

"Yeah. Tony and I were just trying to decide whether or not to call Abby in."

"Call her," Gibbs said without a second thought. Not only would Abby not mind, Gibbs wanted this case solved _now_ , not first thing in the morning, and if he was honest, he didn't care if she _did_ mind. If this was going to help, it was going to help right now, not later.

Tony nodded and got out his phone.

"I thought you were still supposed to be taking it easy, Boss," he said.

Gibbs just raised an eyebrow at him and didn't reply. He felt partially responsible for Tim's current situation and he wasn't going to leave and hope things worked out.

He listened with half an ear as Tony explained to Abby what he needed. Then, he was slightly startled by Ducky's hand on his arm.

"Jethro, you will do nothing for Timothy if you harm yourself by doing too much," Ducky said in a very low voice. "Don't let your guilt make things worse."

Gibbs looked at Ducky with another raised eyebrow. Ducky's response was an understanding smile.

"I'm not suggesting that you leave if you truly feel better about staying, but the idea of sacrificing oneself for another is only a good idea if it's actually necessary. You know that Abigail will work with or without your presence."

"I'm staying, Duck."

"Very well."

Then, it was just a matter of waiting.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Nor was NCIS the only group working late. Ever since learning of Tim's near-suicide, Fornell had be unable to let the case go. This was beyond even the regular horror of a serial killer. Killing people with the intention of breaking down another person was a special breed of terrible. There were so many extra victims.

So it was getting very late and he was sitting at his computer, staring at the information they had on the Wordsmith.

"Do you really think you're going to find something new by looking at the same stuff we've looked at a hundred times?"

Fornell looked over and saw Sacks drape his jacket over the back of his chair and sit down, facing him.

"Shouldn't you be home?" Fornell asked.

"Yep, but I told Lisa I'd be late."

"Why? If you think it's pointless, why stay?"

"Because you are," Sacks said. "And maybe you _will_ find something." He smiled a little. "And if you do, I want to be here to share in the credit."

Fornell smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"We have so much information. We've got to find _something_ that leads us to this guy."

"Well-educated," Sacks said. "But the profilers don't think he's in medicine or psychology even with his chosen theme."

"The theme is about Agent McGee, not really about the words," Fornell said, darkly. "We figured that out way too late."

Sacks nodded.

"But he still chose to use big fancy words. Showing off his learning."

Fornell nodded in agreement. "And they said it could indicate a need to prove his ability; perhaps, like Ahrendson, he got laid off."

"But no one in Ahrendson's circle meets the criteria."

"Or has alibis."

"And a job."

"No one in NCIS recognizes the voice, either. No new maintenance staff, but he had to have got all his dirt on McGee somehow!"

"But he had two months where he could have simply been in places where McGee was. It doesn't have to be from work. All it would take was one little thing and he could make use of it."

Fornell sighed. "We just keep going around in circles."

"He claims to be a master."

"Anyone can claim that they've never been caught."

"We haven't caught him, have we?" Sacks said.

"Whose side are you on, Ron?"

"I'm on the law's side, but that doesn't change reality. And the reality is that we can't find him. We don't know who he is, even if we know a lot about him. Heck, we even have his voice, but that doesn't get us any closer."

Fornell nodded again. "I know."

"But you know, now that I think of it, there's one thing we _haven't_ done."

"What's that?"

"Re-evaluate everything from the perspective of Agent McGee being the reason for this. We've been treating him as the excuse the Wordsmith was using to kill, thinking that all the problems he was having were simply by-products of a serial killer, but now, it looks like the killing was incidental to the attack on Agent McGee. That changes what we're doing. Yes, he's still a serial killer, but he has a bigger purpose than killing a lot of people. He wanted to have _one_ person dead, and that one person was Agent McGee."

Fornell leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. He looked at Ron for a long moment.

"And if that's the case," Fornell said, slowly, "then, what we have is less a serial killer and more a person with an ax to grind. This is personal. He wants to win. Agent McGee won when he took out Ahrendson, a man the Wordsmith claims to have trained. That means his training failed and now, to remove that failure, the master is trying to take him out. But by making Agent McGee the failure, so he kills himself and the master doesn't even have to get his hands dirty that way."

"And that also means that Agent McGee isn't necessarily out of the line of fire yet."

"Well, as far as that goes, he's still in the hospital in the secure wing and from what I understand that's not changing for a while."

"He can't stay in there forever," Sacks said. "And when he gets out, if we haven't found this guy, he'll still be a target."

Fornell nodded. "Something else to keep in mind."

"Yeah. You going to tell Gibbs?"

Fornell grimaced. "Tomorrow. Not tonight."

Ron smiled. "Then, why don't you go home and I'll go home, too."

"Sounds like a plan."

They both packed up and left, knowing the job wasn't over yet, but also knowing that there was only so much that could be done in one sitting.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

There was a distant ping that intruded on his sleep, but he didn't want to acknowledge it. He needed sleep.

Then, he heard movement.

Clomping feet.

Clicking. What was so familiar about that sound?

"Tony, wake up! We got a hit!"

Suddenly, the words penetrated and Tony sat up quickly.

"A hit? What is it? And what time is it?"

Abby was at her computer.

"It's 4:30 a.m., and I got a hit on the prints. Sort of."

"Sort of? What does _that_ mean?"

"Well, I got a matching print, but I don't have an I.D."

Tony got up off Abby's futon that she'd graciously loaned him, yawning and rubbing at his eyes.

"Abby, you're not making any sense."

"Yes, I am, and since I was so nice to you and let you sleep on my futon when everyone else is upstairs or at home, you shouldn't insult me."

Tony rolled his eyes and walked over to the computer.

"Then, explain it again so I can understand it."

Abby summarized what she had been reading from her computer. "Ten years ago, there was a murder of a man in Ithaca, New York. He was stabbed to death in his car, early in the morning, but they found one perfect index print on the victim's glasses. The problem was that the prints weren't in AIFIS, so even with that, they didn't have an I.D. No DNA to speak of, either."

"And you're saying that the print on _this_ microphone matches _that_ one?"

"Yes," Abby said, firmly. "The prints are good, both thumb and index and it matches!"

"So our master killer really has killed before and got away with it."

"Looks like it."

The idea brought him no comfort. It wasn't a specific identification. It was just another step closer. The problem was that it seemed to move the goal posts further away at the same time.

"Thanks, Abbs. I'll tell Gibbs."

"You could show your appreciation by getting me a Caf-Pow, too."

"Not at 4:30. Just go to sleep."

"With this excitement? No way!"

Tony grinned. "Then, you don't need a Caf-Pow, either."

Abby stuck her tongue out at him and he ran out of the lab and up to the bullpen. Gibbs was at his desk, sleeping.

"Boss, we have something. Not enough but something," Tony said.

Gibbs sat up, as if he'd never been asleep before and instantly grabbed for his water. He looked at it with distaste and then took a drink.

"You know, Boss, if you drink that water the same way you drink coffee, you'll die of water poisoning."

Gibbs glared at him and then cleared his throat and winced slightly.

...and took another drink.

"What do you got, DiNozzo?"

"Abby got a match on our print, but it's from another unsolved murder in Ithaca, New York, ten years ago."

"Casefile?"

"I'll get it, but it's 4:30, Boss."

"Get it."

Tony just nodded. Gibbs wasn't quite as awake as he was pretending he was, so he wasn't quite following everything. In the meantime, though, he could look up the media coverage on the case and see what the basics were. All thought of sleeping was gone as he had something new to focus on.

When he went to the _Ithaca Journal_ archives, he was immediately struck by the victim. A recently-hired librarian at Cornell University. Ahrendson had been a librarian who had been laid off. And if he remembered right, the FBI profilers had indicated that this was likely someone who had plenty of education. What if one of the people who had applied for the job was the killer, someone who thought he _deserved_ the job and killed the one who had taken it from him? Getting a list of candidates would likely be very difficult after ten years. Did they keep records of who applied? This wasn't the same place as Paul Ahrendson had been, but another possible connection.

Tony started making notes of everything he was going to ask for when it was late enough to be sure of getting information. They needed the casefile investigating John Lloyd Adams' murder. They needed to talk to the university people and see if there was information about the rejected candidates. If not, they needed to talk to anyone on the hiring committee to see if someone stood out. Assuming any kind of success there, they would need to find out where these people were.

And even if this didn't solve everything, if they had a name and a face, then, it was possible that they could force this guy to go to ground and maybe keep him from killing anyone else. They'd had another reprieve, but Tony wasn't sure if the reprieve was because he had no other plans for killing someone or if he was waiting to see what Tim would do next or if he just needed to find another victim.

Tony didn't want to find out which it was. He just wanted to stop him. Permanently.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim woke up very early. So early that it was dark out and no one in the psychiatric ward was moving around. He lay where he was without moving for a while. He was never alone here. He knew why that was, but he liked his alone time, and now, he had none.

 _I suppose I deserve that,_ he thought.

He wished he knew how things were going with the case, but at the same time, he was afraid to know how things were going with the case. What if someone else had died? They weren't allowing him to watch the news. He wasn't being given any computer access, no internet, no phones, nothing. The idea was that he was being forced to confront his own mind without the influence of the outside world.

He supposed it would help if he could just bring himself to believe what they were telling him, but at the same time, even while acknowledging that they were right that it wasn't his fault, he still genuinely felt that the Wordsmith would have stopped killing without Tim being there to see what he was doing. That being the case, he still was convinced that his solution would have worked. Now, he could acknowledge that there might be other solutions to try, but he still was sure that what he wanted to do would have worked.

He lay there for a little longer, trying not to think about anything. It didn't really work, although his mind certainly jumped around to different topics.

 _My face itches,_ he thought randomly. Maybe he could convince them to let him shave, even if it was using an electric razor and under supervision. He might be crazy, but he didn't have to _look_ the part.

How much longer would he lay there, pretending to be asleep so that no one realized he was awake?

Tim didn't know, but he knew that the moment he started moving around, the moment he sat up, someone would come into the room to check on him.

 _Another day of scrutiny_.

Finally, he sighed and sat up. He looked toward the door and was completely unsurprised when it opened ten seconds later. He couldn't see the nurse in the light from the hallway and she didn't turn on the light in the room, either. He didn't really care who it was. It was someone and that was all that mattered.

"You're up early, Agent McGee."

He couldn't identify her but he recognized the voice.

"Yes."

"Don't sound so excited. Are you going to go back to sleep?"

"If I was, I wouldn't be able to after this thrilling conversation," Tim said, knowing he sounded way more resentful than was called for.

Tim felt his bed shift and he looked up to see the nurse sitting down.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what? What could I possibly have to talk about that I haven't already talked about a million times in the last four days?"

"You're upset."

Tim let out a short, humorless laugh. "I nearly shot myself in the face a few days ago. Yes, I'm upset. It shouldn't take a genius to figure that out."

"Not about that."

Tim felt a little bit of surprise.

"Huh?"

"Oh, you're still upset about that, too, I'm sure, but this isn't about that. Is it."

It wasn't even a question, but Tim felt he had to answer anyway.

"No."

"Then, what is it?"

"You don't really want to know."

"Yes, I do."

"You don't really care. You _have_ to ask these questions. This is just your job."

"It's my job, but I took this job because I care. Yes, I get a paycheck, but so do you. Are you saying that you don't care about what you get paid to do? ...and considering the reason you're here, you might want to take care about how you answer."

Tim was silent, knowing that his mother would be angry at his attitude, but then, she'd be angry at what he'd almost done, too. What did that matter?

"What's wrong, Agent McGee?"

"I'm tired of being stared at, okay?" Tim said, almost shouting. The vehemence surprised him, probably as much as or more than it likely surprised the nurse.

"What do you mean?"

"What do I _mean_? I mean that, it's now day four that I've been in this place and I'm under constant observation. Four days. That's 96 _hours_ of observation. That's... 5,760 _minutes_ , 345,000 _seconds_ , and I feel every one of them. I can't do anything without people staring at me, not even shower! I've been awake for more than an hour, probably, but I was staying as still as I could just so that I didn't have to deal with someone coming in here to stare at me again. _That's_ what I mean. I'm tired of people staring at me!"

"Any people or is it just us?"

"Anyone who is looking and evaluating and analyzing and..."

"And finding you wanting?"

"It's not about that!" Tim exclaimed, still much louder than he needed to be. "Not everything is about me almost killing myself!"

"No, it's not, but are you sure that this isn't?"

"Look, I like having time alone, that's all."

"That's not what you said, Agent McGee. You said you didn't like people staring at you."

Now extremely upset, Tim continued to rant. "Not everything I say has to have some kind of double meaning! That's what's driving me crazy...even more crazy than I already am! Every little thing I do and say has to be analyzed until it's completely meaningless. Every word I say has to _mean_ something, and it doesn't necessarily mean _anything_! Sometimes, words are just words!"

Suddenly, Tim was surprised to feel like crying. He knew that, with the light from the hall, the nurse could probably see it in his face, but he just stopped talking and looked away.

"Agent McGee, what is it?"

"Nothing," Tim said. "Nothing." But his voice was thick with the tears he felt.

"You said something that bothered you."

"No."

"You're lying, Agent McGee. Tell me."

Tim shook his head, not wanting to speak when he was so close to crying.

"This isn't about judgment, Agent McGee. It's about understanding where you're coming from. You have something that's bothering you right now. What is it?"

Tim felt his jaw tighten as his lower lip started trembling. He was liable to really start crying and he did _not_ want that. Not even a little bit. He sat there, trying to control his emotions that were just way out of whack at the moment. The nurse said nothing else. She was obviously just waiting for him to speak.

Finally, he tried to get it out without embarrassing himself. "Two people were killed because the killer decided I must be afraid of never getting married. I'm not afraid of that! But he heard something and decided that there was some deeper meaning to what I said. There doesn't have to be. But people died because of it."

"That's not what's happening here, Agent McGee. We're trying to help you see reality, but we can't help you with that if we don't know what you're currently seeing and thinking. _That's_ why we ask questions, and it forces _you_ to think about what you're saying."

"Can you stop staring at me?" Tim whispered.

"No, and you know why we can't."

"Don't tell me that I should have thought of that before," Tim said, seizing on something that could make him angry again. "I never thought I'd be alive to be stared at. I was going to be dead, and if anyone stared at me later, I wouldn't have known because I'd be dead."

"Is that still what you want?"

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

"I don't know. Should I? Are you going to say it?"

Tim hated that these people here could think circles around him. It made him feel like he was just some lame idiot. Every time he thought he was making a valid point, it was suddenly turned around and made into something vacuous and empty. So this time, he said nothing more.

"Agent McGee, do you still wish you were dead?"

"I still think what I was going to do would have worked," Tim said softly. "And there's a part of me that's annoyed that no one else can see how successful it would have been. My idea would have worked!"

"But you would have to be dead for it to work."

"So? That's my job. We're supposed to be willing to step into the line of fire. We're supposed to be prepared for death any day, even if all we end up with is something simple. It's always possible that we could be called upon to die. So why is what I planned a problem?"

"Because that's not what you're doing, Agent McGee."

"I was going to kill myself so that no one else died! That's exactly what I was doing!"

"No, it's not. What you were doing was throwing your life away as if it didn't matter, not stepping into the line of fire to protect someone."

"What's the difference?"

"The difference, Agent McGee, is that if you were in a standoff with a killer and had to step in front of a bullet to save someone, the reason you did it would not be because you deserved it or because the situation was your fault. The reason you did it would simply be that you had to in order to save someone. Your life is still valuable, but you're willing to set that aside for a greater good."

"And you're trying to say that isn't what I was going to do?"

"No, it's not. What you were doing was blaming yourself for what a killer had done and could continue to do. And so, instead of being willing to give up something valuable, you were throwing away something worthless. You were punishing yourself for your perceived guilt in the hopes that it would atone for something you'd done wrong."

"The end result is the same. People would stop dying."

"Not necessarily, Agent McGee, and you would know that if you were willing to think about it, but you're not yet. The very fact that you still think that your idea to commit suicide was a _good_ idea tells me that you're not ready to leave and you still need observation. I'm sorry, but that's what I will recommend to Dr. Saunders...because, Agent McGee, I care deeply about what happens to you, and to every patient who comes into this hospital. I don't want to see you lose your life simply because you've decided it doesn't matter." She leaned forward and squeezed Tim's arm. "Your life _does_ matter, Agent McGee. You are an important person. People care about you. People love you. They don't want to lose you. _You matter_."

Tim looked away from her again, but this time, she just patted his arm and stood up.

"Are you going to try to get some more sleep or are you up for the day?"

Tim sat there for a few seconds.

"I'm up," he whispered.

"Okay. Do you want to shower?"

"Does someone have to be there?"

"Yes."

They were always very respectful of him, giving him space, but Tim still hated that he couldn't shower completely alone. At the same time, he just didn't feel clean and he didn't like that, either.

"Yes," he whispered.

"All right, I'll get everything ready and Logan will be there."

"Okay."

Then, he was alone. But not really. He knew someone was still watching him. This time, however, he just sat where he was and thought about what the nurse had said to him. He still didn't know which one she was.

Part of him wanted to be really angry at what she had said.

But at the same time, he couldn't forget what she had said, either.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

"Okay, so here's what we have," Tony said. "We have a print that definitely comes from this unsolved murder of a university librarian in Ithaca, New York. The university is still trying to find out who was on the hiring committee. They don't have the records of the applicants any longer, unless they find them somewhere in the university archives, but right now, they don't think they have them."

"But it was another librarian and that seems way too coincidental," Torrance said. "So the idea that it could be a rejected candidate makes sense."

"How would he have got to Ahrendson, though?" Jensen asked.

"Who knows? But if he did, it could just be one of those situations where the stars aligned," Tony said.

Ducky's phone rang.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said and then quickly excused himself from the room.

The meeting continued.

"Our profiling team has looked at the murders again with the new understanding that McGee was the focus of the murders," Fornell said. "And the idea of rejection fueling a need to prove his skill fits in quite well with the patterns they already had seen. This Wordsmith is creating value in himself because of his need to show that he's superior."

"But why murder as the way?" Torrance asked. "Surely there are other ways to say that you're better than everyone else than by killing people."

"Why does any person start killing?" Jensen asked. "Sure, we have some that we know what started it but a lot of these serial killers don't ever really give us a reason. Look at how many we haven't been able to track down and how many of the ones we did who are actually alive. It's just one of those things."

"I don't care if this guy lives long enough to explain himself," Tony said darkly.

"We follow the law, Agent DiNozzo," Vance said, speaking for the first time. "As much as I sympathize with your feelings, this is not going to become a vigilante, revenge killing."

"Understood," Tony said, but while he knew Vance was right, he still resented that this guy was going to get more consideration than he had given anyone else.

"Abby is still checking to see if there are any other cases that might fit in here, cases where he _didn't_ have a specific focus," Torrance said. "It's possible that he's been killing people without anyone realizing it was a serial killer doing it because his method is so different."

"The FBI finds that to be an unlikely possibility," Fornell said. "Where he's been so blatant about getting attention from these murders, it seems unlikely that he was killing people and not bragging about it before this. It's much more likely that, because he got away with it once, he considered himself an expert."

"But they are considering the idea that his finding a student might have changed his m.o. significantly enough to create a new pattern," Sacks added.

"So we're waiting on Cornell, then?" Vance asked.

"Yeah," Tony said. "We're hoping to hear from them today."

Ducky came back into the room, looking cautiously hopeful.

"What is it, Dr. Mallard?" Vance asked.

"As you know, Timothy has been in the hospital for a week now, and Dr. Saunders is cautiously approving Timothy's release. This is going to be a testing of the waters, to see if he's truly ready for the world again. He'll still have a lot of time spent in therapy, and Dr. Saunders has asked that I be willing to take some time off to be with Timothy in these first days, so that he's not alone."

"Of course," Vance said. "Whatever you need."

"Thank you."

"You'd better have security, Dr. Mallard," Fornell said.

"Oh?"

"We're just a little worried that this guy might decide to go the direct route to get rid of McGee, no matter what he's done up to now. The profilers disagree with Ron and me, but I'd rather be overly cautious and wrong."

"I'm certainly not going to refuse to give Timothy any protection he might need," Ducky said.

"Good. Do you want NCIS to take care of it or us?"

"We'll take care of it," Gibbs said, breaking his silence.

Fornell nodded. "When is Agent McGee getting released?"

"This evening, as soon as I can get there."

"So he's doing better?" Jensen asked.

"Yes, and according to Dr. Saunders, he's become very self-conscious about people watching him."

"Because that's probably how the Wordsmith figured out what he was afraid of," Torrance said, softly.

"Yes. And that being the case, I would suggest that, no matter how worried you have been that you don't rush to visit. He needs time, and now, he has it," Ducky said. "I'm not sure we should tell him about having protection because he may take it the wrong way."

"You don't want anyone visiting?" Tony asked.

"Not at all," Ducky said. "What I'm suggesting is that he's not ready for a party or for a large group. As far as Timothy is concerned, this event may not yet be a cause for celebration. Please, call before you come so that we can see if Timothy is ready for a visitor or not. He _will_ need help and friends as he recovers and these first days will be likely be very difficult for him, especially where the immediate cause of his attempt has not been resolved."

"What if he asks about the case?" Torrance asked. "That's what made it so bad for him in the first place. Do we tell him anything?"

"Details are likely unnecessary, but Timothy is still himself and trying to lie to him would be a very bad idea."

Torrance nodded.

Fornell and Sacks stood up.

"I'm glad to hear that he's doing better. He probably wouldn't want a visit from us, but let him know that we're glad he's still around," Fornell said.

"Of course," Ducky said, smiling. "He'll likely be surprised, if I know Timothy at all."

Fornell smiled. "He's always surprised when I notice him."

"Let us know what you hear from the university," Sacks said.

Tony just nodded.

Torrance and Jensen also stood up.

"Balboa's still checking with the tip line, probably, but we'll be looking for other cold cases that match up," Jensen said. "Ducky, ask Tim if he'd mind if I visited, okay? I know it'll be awkward, but I've been worried about him."

"Of course, William. I can do that."

"Thanks."

Then, it was down to Vance, Ducky, Gibbs and Tony.

"Do you know how many days you'll be needing, Dr. Mallard?"

"No. Not at the moment. In my admittedly-limited experience, the first few days are very difficult and some can't handle it right away. We'll just need to walk a fine line between what Timothy can handle versus what he might _want_ to handle."

Vance nodded. "Any discussions about returning to work should wait until he's really ready for it. There's no rush."

"Thank you, Director. I'll be sure to let Timothy know."

"Is there anything else, Agent Gibbs?"

Gibbs shook his head.

Vance dismissed them and they all left.

"What would you like to do as far as protection, Jethro?" Ducky asked as they walked down to the bullpen.

"One person inside, one out on the street. I'll be inside tonight."

"Then, I'll be out," Tony said.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Even if we can't both be doing it every night, I want to be there tonight."

Gibbs nodded.

"And you shouldn't be every night, either, Jethro," Ducky said. "You need a regular night's sleep, no matter how much you might deny that. Spread it around a little bit for your own sake and for everyone else's. After all, it wasn't long ago that we worried whether or not _you_ would be able to survive."

Tony could see that Gibbs didn't like being reminded that he was as human as the rest of them, but it was true. Gibbs was regaining his former stamina, but it was taking time, and the more he pushed himself, the longer it would likely take.

There wasn't much else to say, but while Gibbs went down to check on Abby and give her the news while simultaneously reining her in more than a little bit, Tony followed Ducky.

"What is it, Anthony?"

"Do you think this is a good idea, Ducky?" Tony asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that it's only a week ago that Tim nearly blew his brains out! Should he really be out so soon?"

"Dr. Saunders has judged that the initial crisis has passed, that Timothy is no longer suicidal."

"Just like that?"

Ducky smiled. "No. Not 'just like that'. Even though _we_ have not seen him, don't forget that Timothy has not been alone. Not for a single moment over the last week. He has been getting help, and because of how much the constant observation has been wearing on him, Dr. Saunders feels that it's a good idea to let Timothy try things out rather than tell him he has to stay for his own good. If it doesn't work and he has to go back, at least, he has tried."

"Won't that just make him feel like a failure?"

"It's possible, but it all depends on how it is dealt with and that risk is certainly one we would be aware of."

Tony sighed. "I don't want to see him like that. Ever again, Ducky. I don't want to see Tim feeling like death is the only way. It's wrong that he _ever_ felt like that, even for a second!"

"I completely agree with you, Anthony. This is not something any of us want for him. Have _you_ spoken to anyone about what you went through?"

"Yeah," Tony said, reluctantly. "Gibbs made me. I'm going again next week."

"Good. A suicide attempt is painful for all concerned, even if stopped. And if it makes you feel any better, I don't believe that Timothy truly wanted to die, not even in the moment."

"Then, why would he do that? If you say it was just for attention..."

"No, not even a little. I think Timothy was pushed into an emotional state that was too much for him to take and it skewed his thinking. If he had truly wished to die, he would have just done it. You wouldn't have found him struggling to make that decision. You would have found him dead. He wasn't thinking clearly and there was some psychological damage which now has to heal. How long that will take, I don't know, but it's not something he'll just bounce back from, but he _can_ heal, even with this traumatic moment."

"Then, what's best?"

"What's best depends on the person. What will be best is for you to ask Timothy what he thinks will be best."

"Even if he says that we should let him die?"

"Anthony," Ducky said, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "Timothy is far from crazy. He is still himself, but he now has another layer to him. That doesn't go away, but it doesn't make him a different person. If you care for him and you respect him, you have to let him dictate your approach to some degree."

"I dropped the ball before, Ducky. I dropped the ball this time, and Tim paid the price both times."

"No, Anthony. You didn't drop the ball. You simply have to accept that Timothy was trying to hide from everyone and he almost succeeded. Instead of focusing on what he almost did, focus on the fact that, of all of us, you're the only one who realized it how serious it was. No one else."

Ducky put his hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Timothy will recover. You just have to let him. Don't turn this extreme situation into Timothy's whole life. Give him a chance...and allow yourself time to deal with it as well. In fact, why don't you join me tonight when I pick him up?"

"You think he'll want me there?"

"Of everyone at NCIS, I believe that you will likely be the best option because you've already seen him at his lowest. He has nothing to hide from you, and I believe that he'll _want_ to hide any problems so that no one thinks he's on the verge of the same situation. But it is up to you. Timothy knows I'm coming. You would be a bit of a surprise but not an unwelcome one."

"I'll let you know," Tony said, feeling unsure about it. He'd been okay with seeing Tim go into the hospital, but he was afraid of what would happen when he came out.

For his part, Ducky just nodded and went back to work. Tony looked down over the bullpen and found himself staring at Tim's empty desk. Would Tim even want to come back after all this?

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Are you ready to go, Tim?" Dr. Saunders asked.

"Yes," Tim said instantly. He was not worried about leaving the hospital. He'd hated being here, only willing to stay because he could acknowledge that he'd needed it.

"Don't forget that you'll be coming back tomorrow."

"I know," Tim said.

"And also, don't forget that if you have any problems, it's not failure."

"I know," Tim said, again. He was barely paying attention. Everything had been said already. More than once.

"And one more thing, Tim."

"What?"

There was a long pause. Long enough that Tim finally looked away from the door and toward Dr. Saunders who was smiling with complete understanding.

"What?" Tim asked again.

"Don't forget that you have value in yourself. No matter what else, don't fall into the trap of believing you aren't important. You are."

Tim looked down and then up at him again. He nodded without answering aloud.

Then, finally, there was Ducky coming inside.

"Dr. Mallard, I'm glad you're here," Dr. Saunders said. "I thought Tim might just decide to make a run for it."

"I'm sorry, Timothy. There was an accident on the Beltway and it delayed my arrival," Ducky said. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," Tim said.

"Good. Now, Anthony came with me, but if you don't want him here, he said that he could make himself scarce."

"Tony came?"

"Yes. And one more thing, Jethro will be staying the night."

Tim furrowed his brow.

"Why?"

"Because, Timothy, many people have been worrying about you. I think Jethro feels he'll make things better just by being present."

Tim barely kept himself from rolling his eyes at that. Something must have shown on his face, though.

"He'll not be in your room or anything like that, of course. He's just wanting to be on hand," Ducky said.

"How long will this go on?" Tim asked, drearily.

He was surprised when Ducky just smiled.

"Until you're fed up with it, I'm sure," he said.

Tim found himself smiling back.

"Okay."

"Tomorrow morning, Tim. Okay?" Dr. Saunders said.

"Okay."

Then, Tim followed Ducky out of the hospital. As they stepped outside, Tim took a deep breath and let it out.

"I feel like I haven't been able to breathe in a week," he said.

"I know those places are not set up for being relaxing."

"No. ...are you going to let me shave?" Tim asked, rubbing his prickly face.

Ducky smiled. "Yes. But you realize, I hope, that I have to ask the question."

Tim grimaced. "Yeah."

"Do I have to worry about what you'll do with a razor or in the bedroom by yourself?"

"No."

"And if something changes that?"

"I'll tell you."

"Then, I will trust you."

Tim laughed a little skeptically. "Will you?"

"Yes, Timothy. I think that, if someone had asked you very directly at the time, you wouldn't have lied then. I don't believe that you'll lie now."

"Then, why do I have to stay with you?"

Ducky smiled. "Because, just as if you had broken a bone and couldn't manage on your own for a few days, you have injured your psyche and can't quite manage on your own yet. There's no reason to expect your mind to heal instantly...and it doesn't. It takes time."

Ducky made it sound so reasonable, but Tim didn't like the idea, even if he knew it was true. He knew that there were good reasons to have him stay with Ducky but still...

They got out of the hospital and Tony was there, leaning on his car.

"Hey, Tim. Ready to get out of here?"

"Yes. Very much so," Tim said.

"Great. Hop in and we'll get you to Ducky's place."

Tony was ostensibly acting normally, but Tim had his doubts that Tony was feeling anything like normal.

"So are you going to take your turn to camp out in Ducky's house?"

Tony grinned. "If Ducky decides to cook for me, maybe."

"Anytime, Anthony," Ducky said. "I've often said that my home is open to any who want to come by."

Tim got in the car and they drove to Ducky's place. It was a fairly quick drive, but as they were getting out of the car, Tim stopped and looked Tony in the eye.

"How's the case going?" he asked.

"You were right, Tim. There was a microphone in your apartment...and a fingerprint. They aren't identified, but we've connected them with an unsolved murder from a few years ago. We're working on it, and we could finally get an I.D. on this guy," Tony said.

"Anyone else killed?"

"No. We don't know why but we're thanking our lucky stars so far."

Tim looked from Tony to Ducky.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not lying, Tim," Tony said. "No one in a week and no messages. It's been quiet."

"He can't just be stopping," Tim said. "That makes no sense."

"I agree with you," Tony said, "but I'm grateful for any kind of a lull."

Tony hadn't hedged at all, and Tim felt that he'd know if Tony was trying to keep Tim out of it. He was obviously not giving all the information, but he seemed to be telling the truth.

"Okay."

Then, Tim went inside with Ducky and was resigned to seeing Gibbs on the couch.

"It's rather late, Timothy. Would you like to eat something for dinner?"

"I want to shower and shave. Can I do that, first?"

Ducky nodded and smiled.

"Of course. I'll get dinner ready. You know where the bathroom is."

Tim was surprised when Ducky went into the kitchen. After a week of constant observation, it was a strange feeling to have _no one_ staring at him. In fact, it was such a surprise that Tim just stood there for a second without moving.

"You change your mind, McGee?" Gibbs asked.

"Uh... no."

Then, he went upstairs to get truly clean...and clean-shaven.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Torrance, you need to go home. You're not supposed to be full-time yet," Balboa said.

Then, he stopped. Torrance was staring at her computer screen, her face so close to the monitor that her nose was almost touching it.

"Daelyn?" he asked.

"I think I might have found a new pattern for our killer," Torrance said, slowly. "And if I'm right, we don't want to leave Tim alone until we catch him."

"Why? What have you found?"

He leaned over and looked at the cases Torrance had brought up.

His heart sank.

"Oh."


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

They'd found the microphone. Oh, well. It was unfortunate, but he hadn't been able to get anything from it in days anyway. And his victim would have to leave the hospital eventually. Maybe it was best to go back to his old standby. He'd been so good at it that no one had ever really figured it out. He'd learned from others who came before. Their failures had helped shape his patterns.

Paul had been a mistake. It had taken time to realize it because of the heady feeling of having a protégé to guide and nurture along the path to success, but it was likely impossible to teach these skills. Either you had it or you didn't. If you didn't...well, there was no way to put it there, and spending time on failure made capture more likely. Paul had certainly shown potential. He had the same hunger that he'd recognized in himself. However, he'd allowed himself to be pulled into the need to finish instead of focusing being successful. If he had abandoned the pattern once it had been discerned, he could have continued to succeed and it would have been all the sweeter to see the poor, pitiful police scratching their heads, overtaxing their puny, finite minds, trying to figure out why the killing had stopped. It was likely that they were doing that right now.

He laughed softly to himself as he began to compile his next list. Careful planning was key. After he tied up loose ends here, he would move on. Every killing opened him up more to making mistakes and being found. That's why being willing to move around was key.

But there was one loose end to tie up, and it would bring him back to his roots. It was all the easier because of what had already happened. All the easier and the more satisfying to see how much he had managed to do. He didn't know how his target had been stopped, but people would still be seeing this as an option. If it had almost happened once... And who would dare to say that it wasn't possible a second time?

Smiling with anticipation, he slid his other list aside for the moment and began to plan his next triumph.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How in the world did you get to this as an idea?" Balboa asked, leaning over Torrance's shoulder.

"I was trying to find new ways of searching for suspicious deaths," Torrance said, her voice was quiet, but she was clearly horrified at what she was relating. "I was doing different search terms, grouping the information in different ways and I started to see a pattern in the deaths that kept showing up."

The pattern was obvious with how the data was currently organized.

_Suspected suicide_

"And then, when I first noticed it, I couldn't help thinking about Tim, and what they say about serial killers, how they have their patterns they follow and we'd been looking at what happened to Tim as a major change, but what if it wasn't? What if suicide or at least people thinking of suicide is how this guy usually kills?"

"Okay, so how widespread is this?"

"I used the murder at Cornell as the starting point," Torrance said. "And then, I put the suspected suicides on a map connected in chronological order."

She brought up the map and Balboa was shocked.

Ithaca was the center of an ever-widening spiral outward.

"And these are all suspected suicides?"

"Yes. People who had no previous history of depression or anything like that. If I put in all the suicides, the pattern disappears and even with that, there are some outliers. I mean, some people do commit suicide without anyone knowing that there was a problem. But look at this." She pointed to one in Charleston, South Carolina that did fit the spiral.

"That's not long before Ahrendson started killing," Balboa said, looking at the date.

"Exactly. Whoever this is, he's not staying in the same place and he's using different methods but they all trend toward possible suicides. He covers his tracks by making it look like people are killing themselves. He tried to get Tim to actually kill himself which is a bit different, but it seems like Tim is special. He's a personal kill. I'm not really a profiler but... this doesn't seem like someone who is going to let Tim off."

"I agree. Why don't you send me all that stuff. I'll make sure everyone else gets it."

"Okay." She typed a little bit more. "Done."

"Okay. And Torrance?"

"Yes?"

"Go home. If your doctor found out that you'd put in so much time today..."

Torrance smiled and nodded.

"Okay. It's just hard to set it aside when I think about what happened to Tim. To know that it was intentional..."

"Yeah, but it doesn't help McGee if we're all just thinking about that."

Torrance shut down her computer.

"I thought Ahrendson was bad enough. I mean...he almost killed me. It was terrifying and painful. If it hadn't been for Will and Tim, I'd be dead, but somehow, this one is worse."

Balboa began gently directing Torrance to the elevator.

"That's because you have to watch what it does to another person. That's almost always harder than what it does to you. And if you know the person, too, it's just that much harder."

Torrance nodded. "I think I'll see if I can visit Tim tomorrow. I'd feel better just seeing that he's alive."

"Sounds like a plan. Just go home for tonight."

Torrance laughed.

"I can tell when I'm not wanted."

Balboa hit the elevator buttons and the doors opened. Torrance got on and gave him a little wave before they closed.

Then, Balboa sighed. What Torrance had found was great and it was horrible at the same time. Clearly, the Wordsmith had got better after the first murder. If any prints had been found at the scenes, they would have made the same connection that NCIS had made. A master, indeed.

He walked back to his desk and started to compile all the information to send over to Fornell and the FBI.

No matter how late it was, they would need to know.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Even with Ducky hovering and trying to get him to sleep early, Gibbs wasn't tired enough to sleep. He was tired physically, but he wasn't tired in a sleepy way.

And the reason why was the man in the room just down the hall. He was worried about Tim, worried about how he'd do after this, worried that he just might decide to kill himself again, worried that it was all an act and Tim really hadn't been ready to leave. In fact, the door was slightly ajar at Ducky's request. Tim had acquiesced but he hadn't been happy about it.

So now, with the house completely quiet, he could sit and think.

It was strange to realize that so much had happened without his being involved. Nearly all of Ahrendson's case had been done without his input, even without his knowing. Gibbs didn't like that, and he'd tried to get up to date on everything so that he'd be able to be part of it. It wasn't so much the physical debility, although that did rankle a bit, but rather, being out of the loop. Tony had told him things, kept him up-to-date on what was happening, but the reality of it had simply passed him by, and he _did_ feel slightly responsible for Tim's situation. He shouldn't have been in such dire straits that he felt that suicide was a valid response.

Gibbs knew how bad things had to get for that to be the reaction. He'd gone through it himself and to know that Tim had felt the same way he had was painful, especially when he realized that it had become that bad without his being aware of it.

Then, the silence was broken. He looked up to see Tim coming out of the spare room. He had showered and shaved and looked much more like himself than he had when he had arrived at Ducky's place, but there was still something that was different, something that wasn't right.

He glanced over and saw Gibbs staring at him. And for just a moment, Tim was genuinely angry about it. Gibbs could see it in his eyes, but then, Tim's expression became carefully blank.

"You don't have to watch me every second, Boss," Tim said after a few seconds. "I've already accepted that I shouldn't have done what I did. Okay? You don't have to stay up and watch."

"Not what I'm doing, McGee."

"Right," Tim said, sounding skeptical.

Gibbs made a decision.

"You tired?" he asked.

"No. Not really."

Gibbs gestured to a chair. "Come on over. Have a seat."

Tim hesitated and Gibbs could see he was wary of what the conversation might be. All things considered, Gibbs didn't blame him for feeling that way. He just waited. After a few seconds, Tim walked over and sat down uneasily.

"What?" he asked. "I don't really need another psychoanalyst. I already have one."

"Why did you think that death was the only answer?"

"It would have worked," Tim said.

"Why?"

"Because he was trying to hurt me, taunting me with every death that he linked to me. If he couldn't do that anymore, he would have stopped. He needed an audience."

"Why look at death as the answer?"

"Because nothing else was working," Tim said. His jaw tightened and he tapped his molars together a few times. "I just wanted him to stop, and I was willing to do anything, just so that I didn't have to carry that weight anymore."

"Why not tell someone how you were feeling?"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "It wasn't obvious?"

"Not that you were thinking of suicide."

"That's because I wasn't thinking of suicide for very long," Tim said, almost smiling but not quite. "I'd thought before that I'd do anything to stop this guy from killing. Once I thought of killing myself, it seemed like the perfect answer. ...even if I was wrong about him stopping killing people, at least I wouldn't have to see it. A win-win situation. So I decided to do it."

"No analyzing whether or not it was a good idea?"

Tim sighed. "Look, Boss, I made the decision and I did it. I _almost_ did it. I can acknowledge now that it wasn't a _good_ idea, but I'm still pretty sure that he would have stopped killing, at least for a while. He'd have got what he wanted. Me dead. And that would have stopped him. Permanently? I don't know, but maybe it would have bought you enough time to catch him."

"And now? You still think of it as a valid option?"

"Sometimes, but not to the point that I'd try again."

"You sure about that?"

"I _really_ don't need you to be questioning my honesty, Boss. I had to answer question after question in the hospital. Over and over. Every little word I said. I don't want to have to deal with that now," Tim said, his voice getting tight.

"It's going to come up, McGee. At least for a while."

"Then, maybe I should just go somewhere else. I didn't go through with it! I'm not suicidal now! Can't you just accept that and let me live my life?"

"No," Gibbs said, bluntly. "Because there's something missing, Tim."

"Oh, really? What's that? My zest for life? My _spark_?" Tim asked sarcastically.

"Yes."

Abruptly, Tim stood up and walked away from Gibbs, but only a few steps. He walked to the window and stared out at the darkness. For a long moment, there was only silence. Gibbs didn't try to break it. He just waited.

"I sat on my bed with my gun pointed at my face, Boss. I was trying and trying to convince myself to pull the trigger. I just couldn't do it, but I _knew_ that it would work. I _knew_ that I could stop this guy if I did. But I put my life ahead of the people who might get killed later, and I couldn't make myself do it. If Tony hadn't come, I might have been able to do it eventually, but I'm such a coward that it may never have happened."

"You're not a coward, Tim," Gibbs said, softly. "The drive to live is stronger than you think it is. I didn't want to live with the pain, with the loss. I wanted to be dead so I could escape it, but even then... I couldn't do it. Even when I thought it was all I wanted. I still couldn't make myself do it."

Tim still didn't turn around. Silence fell again for a few minutes.

"They kept telling me that I have value in myself, that I had to see that I matter. But what if I don't _want_ to matter? Being important to someone is why this happened in the first place."

Gibbs could see what Ducky had told him. No, Tim wasn't suicidal any longer, but he still hadn't fully recovered from the psychological assault. It would take time for him to get back to normal, and even then, he would likely be changed by it. Gibbs knew that he himself had been changed by the pain that had nearly driven him to suicide. But Tim would get the help he needed. He wouldn't solve his problems with violence as Gibbs had. He'd get better. Probably still different but better.

"You do matter, but not to the Wordsmith."

"Yes, I do. That's why he picked me."

"No. If you really mattered to him, he wouldn't want you dead. You matter to _us_ , Tim. But you need to matter to yourself."

"Or what?" Tim asked, with a sad parody of a laugh.

"Or we'll be in this same position again and again. You can't throw your life away."

There was an unspoken sentence that hung in the air between them for almost a minute.

_Yes, I can._

But it remained unspoken.

"I'll put on the cuffs this time, Boss," Tim whispered, finally.

"Nope."

"Why not?"

Gibbs smiled, even though Tim couldn't see him.

"Because I didn't bring any with me."

There was a soft laugh.

"And because you shouldn't put them on now any more than you should have before. If it's not your fault, it's not your fault."

"And what if it is?"

"It's not."

Tim finally turned around, his expression open and questioning. He could almost have been back in his first year. The question was in his eyes.

"How do I know that?"

Gibbs stood up and walked over to Tim. He took him by the shoulders and looked him in the eye.

"Because _you_ are not the murderer. You aren't killing anyone. You're trying to stop it. It's not your fault."

"People can inadvertently cause something that they want to stop. A faulty dam, lead in the water, a massacre. Just because they want to stop it doesn't mean it's not their fault."

"You didn't cause this, Tim. Inadvertently or otherwise. It's _not_ your fault. But guess what."

"What?"

"Even if you did, even if there _was_ some way to make it be your fault, you still deserve to live. You still matter."

"No," Tim said, shaking his head. "Not if it was my fault."

It would be easier just to ignore this part. It really _wasn't_ Tim's fault, so it didn't matter if he deserved to live if it _was_ his fault. But Gibbs could see that Tim could easily fall back into blaming himself and if he believed there was something that could make it so that he didn't deserve to live, he could convince himself that he met that standard. Sure, if he started actually killing people or genuinely tried to kill people, it would be harder, but Tim would never do that.

"Yes. Even if there was some way to make the argument. And there isn't. Tim, your worth isn't based on what other people say. It isn't based on what other people do. It's based on who you are and you are a good man who deserves to live and to be happy."

Tim closed his eyes and shook his head again.

"Yes. That's what you forgot and what you need to remember. You do _not_ deserve what you've been going through. You need to stop thinking the way the Wordsmith wants you to. Don't give him that power."

"He could still be right."

"He's not."

Tim suddenly opened his eyes, looking almost afraid.

"Are you going to make me go back there?"

"Where?" Gibbs asked, genuinely confused.

"To the hospital, to where everyone stares at me, where I can't even shave because they're just trying to keep me alive. There."

"No. Unless you're going to try to kill yourself again."

"I don't want to go back there. I felt like a prisoner, even if I understood why I was there."

"Don't give yourself a reason to need to."

Tim sighed and pulled away from Gibbs to turn back to the window.

"I don't even know when I changed enough to feel that way."

Gibbs was actually heartened by that statement. It was the admission that he _had_ dramatically changed his outlook, but in conjunction with other things he'd said, it indicated a willingness to accept that the feelings that had pushed him to suicide had been not his normal emotions.

"You don't have to _keep_ feeling that way."

Tim turned around and looked distressed.

"Unless you catch him, Boss... I don't know if I can really stop. Sure, right now, I'm not feeling that way so much, but I also haven't been allowed to know _anything_ that's been happening outside of the hospital. Now that I'm out here, I'll naturally start to know what's going on again..."

"It can't depend on that, Tim," Gibbs said.

"It does."

"It _can't_ ," Gibbs repeated. "You _can't_ let this man control your life. That's what's happening right now, Tim. You can't do that. You want him caught? You have to start fighting him."

Tim smiled, a little humorlessly, true, but it was a smile.

"You think I should punch him out?"

"If necessary," Gibbs said.

"I'll bet I never even see him," Tim said. "He didn't even have to be in the same room with me to break me down."

He sighed and shook his head one last time.

"I'm tired, Boss. I'm going to go back to bed. And no, I'm not going to kill myself."

Gibbs wanted to push it, wanted to force Tim to keep talking, but he himself was starting to feel tired as well, and he didn't want to make things worse. He just stepped back and nodded.

Tim trudged by him back to the spare room, and Gibbs almost smiled when the door was left slightly ajar. Then, he sat down on the couch and settled down to try and sleep, hoping that things could start looking up.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

_Two days later..._

Tony hung up the phone.

"They're sending a list, Boss," he said. "They apologized for how long it's taken but they've got a list of the final candidates for the library job. They don't have everyone who applied. They said that there were close to a hundred candidates."

"How many?" Gibbs asked.

"Ten that they did preliminary interviews with. Then, three that came to the campus for the final interviews."

"Ten is better than ten million," Balboa said from behind them. "Do you just have the names?"

Tony quickly opened the email the people at Cornell had sent. He scanned through the contents.

"Name, address, date of birth. Nothing more."

"Well, at least we can make sure we have the person actually from the list then," Balboa said.

"Get on it," Gibbs said. "Tell Fornell."

He headed up to talk to Vance, bring him up to date so that, if someone was pushing, he could show progress, no matter how minor.

Tony watched Gibbs go and then got to work.

"I'll take half," Balboa said. "Jensen and Torrance are manning the tip lines and..."

"We're short here," Tony said, his eyes straying to Tim's empty desk.

"Yeah. How's he doing?"

"Okay. Not great still, but... he says he's not suicidal anymore and both Ducky and Gibbs believe him."

"And you? Do you believe him?"

Tony hesitated and then, confessed, "I'm afraid to believe him. I'm afraid that, if I believe him, something will change and I won't be ready to stop him again."

Balboa gave Tony a sympathetic thump on the back.

"He's going to be okay. With so many trying to help, he won't have a choice."

"If that's all it takes, then, you're definitely right," Tony said, trying to smile. "If we catch this guy, it'll be even easier for him."

"Then, let's catch him."

Tony handed over five of the names and they got to work.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Torrance and Jensen were sitting, bored out of their minds, waiting for a new tip that would be as ridiculous as everyone thought it would be. They'd had five so far today. With the days that had gone by without any new murder, the public was starting to move on. But there were still a few people who thought they were helping and yet were doing anything but helping. They knew that they were probably fielding a lot fewer calls than the FBI was, but still...

The phone rang.

"Your turn," Jensen said.

"Can't you do it?"

"Nope. Your turn," he said with a smile.

Torrance rolled her eyes and answered.

"NCIS. How can I help you?"

" _Are you familiar with aytichiphobia or atelophobia?"_

The voice sounded very familiar and she sat up. They'd all heard the recorded voice from Ahrendson's voice mail. This was the same one. Quickly, she gestured to Jensen and put the phone on speaker.

"I'm not familiar with those words."

" _That's good for you. You should probably look them up. They're more common than you think."_

"And why would they matter to me?" Torrance asked.

Jensen was quickly trying to get the phone traced. If they were lucky, it could be immediate, but it would require the caller being sloppy, something that the serial killer had _not_ been at any point.

" _I'll bet it was close. I didn't get to see it, but it was probably close. If you mess up this time, you'll have lost your last chance and he'll live the rest of his life wondering when I'll turn up again. Every death, he'll wonder... is it me? How long do you think he could take it? How long before he tries to end it again? What scares you? Is it the same thing that scares him?"_

Then, there was the silence that indicated the call had ended. Torrance looked over at Jensen with a hopeful expression as he got off the phone with Abby. He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"It was one of those single-use phones, and he was moving. Couldn't get him on the towers," Jensen said. Then, he swore. "This guy is really ticking me off! He just called to gloat and that..."

"Hey, Will. It's okay. We're making progress even if we couldn't trace this call. We're not as far behind as he thinks we are," Torrance said, soothingly.

Jensen took a breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm down.

"You can see it when you look Tim in the eye. This really did something to him. Even if he didn't die, this killed something in Tim. And it's wrong."

"Maybe it's not dead," Torrance said. "Maybe it's just wounded and it'll heal. Come on. We need to get this reported and see what we can do to track him down."

"Okay."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

By later that day, they finally had a breakthrough.

"Fear of failure and not being good enough," Fornell said. "Seems to me that he's still talking about McGee, doesn't it?"

"Well, remember that he could still be using that as the pattern," Vance said.

"But he's already broken his pattern," Torrance said. "No matter how you look at it, he broke his pattern by focusing on Tim in the first place. He broke his pattern by giving warnings. He broke his most recent pattern by calling us instead of leaving a note and by giving two phobias at the same time. If I'm right, one of the reasons he's been so successful is that he's been willing to change when he thinks it's needed. So who's to say that he can't be changing things up again? He said we only had one more chance before he moves on."

"And if he's saying that, he's probably feeling pretty confident that he'll get away," Sacks added.

Jensen muttered something under his breath, but Vance nodded, and then his phone rang. He answered quickly.

"Yes, Ms. Long?" He looked at the others. "Send them in right now."

The door opened a second later, admitting Tony and Balboa.

"We think we've figured out who he is," Tony said.

"What? How?" Fornell asked.

"Cornell finally came through with the people they interviewed for the librarian position ten years ago," Balboa said. "We've been checking all the people on the list, and there's someone who fits all the hallmarks to a tee."

"Plus, he hasn't been sighted or shown up anywhere, including with the IRS, for the last ten years," Tony said.

"Can you show us up here?"

"Absolutely," Tony said. He got the info and pulled it up on Vance's screen.

For the first time, they had a name and a face to put to their killer.

"Elijah Elison Jones, age 47, originally from Wisconsin," Tony said. "Last seen anywhere for certain at his job interview at Cornell ten years ago."

"Nowhere after that?" Fornell asked.

"The IRS tried to find him," Balboa said, "but he didn't file any taxes that year or any year after that. No W-2s, no unemployment checks, no credit cards, no driver's license. If he's working, it's under a different name or under the table."

"Any notes on why he wasn't chosen for the job?" Sacks asked.

Tony shook his head. "Nope. We're lucky they had a list at all. No one remembers him who was on the committee. It's been years and lots of interviews in between."

"That just means he didn't stand out. Anything else?" Vance asked.

"We called people at his former places of employment and even from the university where he got his Ph.D."

"Which was?"

"University of Pittsburgh. Library and Information Science. His emphasis was information ethics."

"Which means?" Fornell asked.

"I don't know. That's just what was on the record. One of the professors remembers him pretty well and says that he was a typical grad student, but he had a temper."

"A temper? Like what kind of temper?" Sacks asked.

"Like he was apparently very sensitive about any perceived insult," Balboa said. "He also didn't take criticism very well, although he was very good at dishing it out."

"How did he finish a Ph.D. without taking criticism?" Vance asked.

"According to this professor, his supervisor knew how to deal with him and his work was good enough that she was willing to work with him all the way through. Everything was mediated through her. They all hoped that he'd get into research because he had no skill as a teacher or an advisor for students."

"And at Cornell?"

"Well, it was a job that would have a lot of student interaction," Tony said. "So maybe that's why he didn't get hired."

"It fits our guy. Well-educated, passed over for a position, doesn't take criticism well. I wish I knew if the screw was always loose or if something loosened it," Fornell said.

"Can't tell you that."

"But he fits and he fits really well. Anyone else who does?" Vance asked.

Balboa shook his head. "No. We were able to track down the other nine candidates. The one they hired is dead, obviously. Another one is dead. Cancer. The other seven all have jobs in other institutions, all but three are married with children. None have movements that fit the spiral Torrance found."

"And if they have jobs and families, it would be obvious if they'd been gone for the last few weeks, killing people here. Any from this area?" Sacks asked.

"Nope. Few aren't too far away. Two in New York City, one in Boston, one in Maine, but the other four are in the West. One in Utah, one in Texas, and the other two in California," Tony said. "And four of them have fingerprints on record that don't match what we have."

"You're right. He's pretty much the only candidate. Then, we need a BOLO. Now," Fornell said.

"You want it on the news?" Torrance asked.

They all paused to think about it. The media might get a hold of it anyway with the police getting the BOLO, but the risk was that, if Jones knew that they were looking for him specifically, he might just go to ground, making it that much harder to find him. Right now, while he was feeling confident enough to vocally taunt them, he might be seen in public.

"No, I don't," Vance said.

"I agree," Fornell said. "They might find out anyway, but for now, let's keep the information restricted as much as possible. Maybe we'll be able to find him soon enough that it won't matter."

"We can hope," Torrance said.

"And _you_ can keep up the guard on Agent McGee," Fornell said. "I don't like that Jones is still focused on him. Who's to say that this isn't really just his way of saying that he's going to kill McGee before moving on?"

"We're not letting that go until we're sure he's safe," Tony said.

"From whom?" Sacks asked, seriously. "From Jones or himself?"

It was obvious that Tony almost lost his temper before he realized that Sacks meant what he was saying. Tony's shoulders slumped a little.

"He's doing better," Tony said. "But probably both."

"He's all right enough to be annoyed at all the attention," Torrance said, smiling. "When I went over yesterday, he said that people didn't need to come and stare at him. I said it was just an excuse to get to see Ducky's house. He even laughed a little."

"All right," Vance said, stepping in. "We need to get the BOLO out on Jones, even if the information is ten years old. Keep it quiet if possible, but let's see if we can find him before any other lives are lost, whether it's Agent McGee or someone else. He's killed enough."

Then, they all began to leave.

"Agent DiNozzo, could you stay behind, please?"

Tony nodded and lingered as the others left. Fornell and Sacks were out the door first, obviously intent on getting the new information back to the FBI to work with. Balboa, Torrance and Jensen took a little longer, but finally, it was just Tony and Vance in the room.

"How are _you_ doing, Agent DiNozzo? Have you had your debriefing?"

"Yeah. Last week," Tony said, looking a little uncomfortable. "And Gibbs is making me take longer than just the debriefing."

Vance was impressed. In the past, Gibbs had resisted any kind of therapy and scoffed at the required debriefings. That he was pushing for it said a lot about how seriously he was taking the whole mess.

"Good. I was going to recommend it. How are you doing?"

"I'm okay. Is that all?" Tony started to leave.

"Agent DiNozzo, wait just a moment. I'm not going to ask you to share anything that you might consider embarrassing."

Tony paused and turned back in surprise.

"I've lost a friend to suicide. I know what that can do to people. I know how hard it can be, how you start questioning what you missed, why you missed it, what you could have done to stop it, if something you said was the last straw. Even if Agent McGee survived, he still got closer than any of us could have wanted. You saved his life. You thought quickly enough to realize what was happening. You thought quickly enough to take steps to find him and to hopefully delay what he was going to do. You saved Agent McGee from the worst mistake he could have made, the one mistake he could never take back. Remember that, for all the struggles he has now, the reason he's alive to have them... is you."

Tony was quiet for a moment.

"Thank you, sir," he said, softly. Then, he said more. "I've never had to talk someone down before, not like that. I was afraid that... that he'd decide to pull the trigger at any moment. I couldn't have stopped him if he had. I want to be there... all the time, just to make sure he doesn't do it again."

"You haven't been, have you?"

"No. I'm going to be there tonight to give Gibbs a break, but that's the first time."

"Good. If you need the time off, take it. Don't push yourself beyond what you can handle."

"I couldn't take time off with Jones out there," Tony said, shaking his head.

"I understand that feeling. And when we _do_ catch him, you _will_ take time off. Understood?"

Tony smiled and nodded.

"Good. Sooner rather than later, I hope."

"Me, too."

Then, Tony left and Vance was alone in his office. He knew that his job involved a lot more than investigating and there were plenty of people in on the case as it was, but this man had gone after one of _his_ agents. That made it personal, and it was clear they were all seeing it that way. Even though Tim was alive, even though he hadn't been physically harmed in any way, they all felt the need to get revenge for what he'd been put through. Vance could insist on by the book, but he knew that, if it came down to there being a question about whether to shoot or not, with Jones, they were very likely to default to shooting.

And if Vance was honest, he had no problem with that.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

"Who's going to sit here tonight and wait for me to do something crazy?" Tim asked Ducky that evening.

"Timothy, you know that's not what they're doing."

"They wouldn't describe it that way, but you know that's what people are thinking about me."

Ducky walked over and sat down beside Tim at the table in the kitchen. Tim was picking at the wood grain, not making eye contact.

"Is that what _you_ are thinking about yourself?"

"I don't see any other way to describe it. What sane person would try to kill himself?"

"Someone who had been hurt."

"I'm sorry, Ducky. I know you're trying, but that doesn't make me feel any better."

"Timothy, you face a long recovery, and I know that having your innermost thoughts and feelings presented so publicly is difficult to deal with. However, what you are doing now is nothing worthy of embarrassment or shame. You should not feel guilt for trying to recover."

"But I should about trying it in the first place," Tim muttered...still only looking at the table.

"Guilt is only useful if it helps one change. Once the change has occurred, all guilt does is drag you down. Yes, if you had died, the rest of us would have mourned your death, but in the end, the only person you truly hurt was yourself. Forgiving yourself will help you recover all the faster."

"What if I don't deserve forgiveness?" Tim asked, almost in a whisper.

"You do. Timothy, I have no doubt in my mind that you do."

A long pause.

"There's still that feeling, though."

"What feeling?"

"The feeling that I was right, that my suicide would have stopped him. Everyone says that I'm wrong about that, probably because they're afraid that I'll try again, but I'm sure that I was right about what would have happened if I had actually done it."

Ducky debated whether or not it would be right to actually have this discussion with Tim. He knew that Tim's doctors were helping him immeasurably, but it might be worthwhile to have this discussion now, with someone Tim really knew, in a safe place that didn't carry the kind of anxiety that Tim had felt under observation in the hospital.

"Timothy, you're right. It's entirely possible that this man would have stopped killing for a time if he had been able to drive you to commit suicide. I don't blame you for thinking that. Logically, it makes sense," Ducky said.

As he thought, that agreement was unexpected enough that Tim lifted his head to look at Ducky in surprise.

Ducky smiled.

" _However_ , that is one of the very reasons you shouldn't have given in."

"What?"

"You would have been giving him another triumph, another reason to think himself the victor, and by resisting it, even though you had assistance in doing so, you gave him a defeat instead. And he has not killed since that day. So far as we are aware, he has not yet killed anyone else. You still stopped him, Timothy. Not permanently, I would wager, but you still stopped him for a time. By living. Not by dying."

Tim said nothing for a while. It was clear that he hadn't thought of it that way, and it was understandable that he hadn't. In fact, Ducky wouldn't be surprised if this was the first time anyone had really put that interpretation on the current state of affairs.

Ducky put an arm around Tim's shoulders.

"You have a fight ahead of you, Timothy, but the wonderful thing is that you don't need to go through this alone. In fact, I think you'll find that you'll have to push very hard to do it alone because we are determined not to let you fall so far again. We care too much to risk losing you again."

"Shouldn't I be able to stand on my own feet?"

"Yes, and you will, but be honest, are you ready to do that now?"

Tim sighed and looked down at the table again. He shook his head.

"Exactly. And there's no shame in needing help. So to answer your original question, I believe that Anthony will be joining us tonight, but he said not to hold dinner for him. So if you have no objections, we can eat."

"I don't," Tim said.

"Good."

Ducky patted Tim on the shoulder and then got up and went to start dinner. He'd decided to actually cook full meals while Tim was staying with him, in the hopes of demonstrating, even just through food, that Tim was worth his time. Tonight, he was going to make a chicken alfredo. It was simple but it did take actual preparation. As he began to get out the necessary ingredients, he was both heartened and, if he was honest, just a little surprised.

"Ducky?"

"Yes, lad?"

"Do you need any help?"

Ducky turned around and smiled.

"One never turns down an offer for help, Timothy. Thank you."

Tim smiled a little at the pointed remark and then stood up and joined Ducky to get the meal cooking.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony wasn't sure what to expect as he approached Ducky's front door. While Tim had looked a lot better than he had in the hospital, as Gibbs had said before, Tim was still missing something and it made Tony more worried than anything else. He was still afraid that Tim would try again, and that this time, he wouldn't be able to stop him.

Balboa was out on the street tonight, and there had been no hits on the BOLO so far, but there had been nothing on the news yet, either, for which Tony was grateful. Sometimes, it was useful to have people watching for a suspect, but in this case, they all felt that it would be better if law enforcement had a chance to search for him without Jones realizing they had a name and a face to look for.

Tony took a breath and knocked. It was only a few seconds before Ducky was opening the door.

"Good evening, Anthony. How have things gone today?"

"Still looking, still nothing," Tony said, succinctly, his eyes looking over Ducky's shoulder in search of Tim.

Ducky smiled.

"Timothy is better today. He's currently reading in the study. Are you hungry? We had some leftover from dinner."

"I could eat," Tony admitted.

"Excellent. Come inside, then."

Tony did and Ducky closed and locked the door behind him.

"Actually, why don't you go in and make your presence known while I warm up a plate for you," Ducky suggested.

"Yeah, okay."

Ducky gave him a little shove in the right direction and then headed off to the kitchen. Tony hesitated and then walked to the study. Tim was sitting on a couch, ostensibly reading, as Ducky had said. He didn't seem to have noticed Tony's arrival. Tony took the chance to observe Tim for a few seconds while he wasn't aware of the scrutiny. Clean-shaven, Tim definitely looked more normal. Right now, when he couldn't see Tim's eyes, Tony could admit that he'd never guess that Tim had been having any trouble. Oh, there were a few hints that Tim had recently been eating poorly, but in general, he looked normal.

Which was why they'd been fooled. They knew Tim had been having a hard time, but not that it had been _that_ bad.

Suddenly, Tim looked up and saw Tony watching him. Tony watched as a bit of anger arose in Tim's eyes and then faded to resignation.

"When did you get here, Tony?" he asked, sounding _almost_ normal.

"Just a couple of minutes ago. Ducky's making me eat dinner," Tony said.

Tim smiled. "Why not? Ducky's not a bad cook."

"Nope. How are you doing?"

Tim almost said something and then laughed. There was a tinge of bitterness to it, but it was a laugh.

"I was going to say _fine_ , but no one would believe me if I said that."

Tony walked into the study and sat down across from Tim.

" _Are_ you fine?"

"I'm not suicidal," Tim said and looked away from Tony, clearly self-conscious.

"That's great, but there's a lot of space between suicidal and fine."

"Yeah, there is."

"So are you closer to fine or closer to suicidal?"

The anger was there again, and Tony wasn't sure why.

"Please, stop asking me that every time you come over, Tony."

"I haven't," Tony said, in surprise.

"How are you," Tim said. "Everyone asks and they know the answer isn't good, but they still ask, as if they're afraid to ask the bigger question, as if they think they'll give me a bad idea if they do ask it." He looked back at Tony. "You don't need to worry about giving me a bad idea, Tony. I already thought of the bad idea myself. I didn't need anyone's help for it."

"Tim, we're worried. Can you blame us for being worried? You almost died! I stood there and watched you pointing a gun at your face, knowing that I couldn't really stop you if you didn't want to be stopped. I'm sorry, but I can't stop worrying, just like that."

"I can't just stop feeling that way."

"No one expects you to!" Tony said, a little more loudly than necessary. "That's why we're asking. To make sure that you're _not_ going to start feeling that way again, so that you don't get to that point where... where we have to face you dying." His throat felt tight and he swallowed and then took a quick breath. "I don't want to face that, Tim. No one does. I don't even think _you_ do."

Tim set his book down and then got up and walked to the window, facing the backyard.

"Tim?"

"There's a part of me that feels selfish for... for not being able to do it. If I'd just done it right when I got there, you would have been too late."

"It's not selfish to want to live."

"Yes, it is. When other people are dying, it is."

"No. Not even then. Does Dr. Saunders know you feel that way?"

"Yes."

"Does Ducky?"

"Yes."

"So..." Tony hesitated. "So...would you mind answering my question without getting mad at me for being worried?"

There was a soft laugh, and then, Tim turned around. His eyes were just a bit brighter than they should be, but that strange anger was gone. Tim still didn't look quite right, but it was somehow better than just a few minutes before.

"I'm somewhere in the middle," he said, finally.

"I'll take that."

"Good...because if you start probing again, I'm going to lose my temper and I don't want to when I know you're just trying to be nice."

Tony laughed. "I'll go along with that."

"Anthony, you can eat now," Ducky said from behind them.

Tony turned back.

"Thanks, Ducky."

He left Tim in the study and went to the kitchen. As promised, a huge plate of pasta awaited him. He smiled.

"Ducky, this is way too much."

"Then, don't eat it all, but far be it from me to let any guest in my home go hungry."

Tony laughed and then sat down at the table with a whoosh.

"He is doing better, like you said."

"Yes, but just eat, Anthony. Serious conversations will keep."

"Okay."

Tony ate, and while he figured he could make better pasta (of course), he still enjoyed it, and it was just nice to have the chance to sit and eat. Ducky did most of the talking. Tony hadn't realized how long it had been since he'd just taken the time to eat a meal. So much of the last few months had been focused on first Ahrendson and now Jones, and then, also Tim's problems that Tony was always eating quickly, in a rush, or just with his mind full of other things. Even now, he was still thinking about Jones and about Tim, but he was taking his time to enjoy his dinner and appreciate that Ducky had made it, if not for him, then, with the idea that there would be enough leftovers for him.

After he finished there was still a little bit left but he couldn't eat another bite.

"Thanks, Ducky. I needed that."

"I thought you might."

"Did Gibbs sleep on the couch?"

"Yes, he did. I'm guessing you would like to continue that?"

"Yeah. Better to be right there than in a separate room. For _any_ reason."

"Of course. Now, if I might make a suggestion?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't force the conversations. Yes, there are serious things that can be talked about and perhaps _need_ to be talked about, but at the same time, Timothy doesn't need to have these conversations over and over. If he brings it up, by all means, let him, and if you want to talk to him yourself, he _might_ be willing, but _you_ must be willing to set it aside, even just for a time. Let him decide if another serious conversation is in order."

Tony nodded reluctantly.

"Good. Now, if I were you, I _would_ make sure he knows where you're planning to sleep. It'll just make things a little smoother although I don't think he'll be surprised."

Tony nodded again.

The rest of the evening passed in a simple fashion. Tim spoke a little but mostly he was just in the spare room, hiding from the eyes that were always on him, or so he felt.

Tony settled down on the couch, not ready to sleep but ready to spend a long night on watch.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim hadn't been sleeping well since he'd left the hospital. It seemed like every little sound woke him up no matter how quiet it was. He woke up late in the night, thinking that he'd heard something and thinking that it wasn't the same kind of house settling sounds that usually disturbed him. Maybe Tony was noisier than Gibbs.

He started to roll over when he froze.

There was a gun against his temple.

"Hello, Agent McGee. I hope you're still ready to die. You don't have a choice this time."


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

For an eternity, Tim lay where he was, staring at the silhouette of a man who was currently holding a gun against his head.

And what surprised him the most, in the midst of his shock, was the realization that he didn't actually want to die right at this moment. For all the guilt he still felt, for all the fear he had of what would come next, right now, he didn't want to die.

"Who are you?" he whispered.

"I guess we haven't been formally introduced, have we. Well, you should know who is going to kill you, so you can die knowing how thoroughly you failed."

And with that, Tim knew who this man was, even though he couldn't see his face, even though he'd never heard his voice. He knew.

"They probably didn't tell you about my last warning, did they."

"No," Tim whispered.

"Well, they took it seriously enough that there was someone out on the street, but he was easy to miss. Incompetent, every one of you."

Tim didn't know what to say about that.

"How did you get in here?" he asked.

"He's dead," the man said. "Your guard in the room out there. He's already dead. No one will help you. The old man upstairs will die if you call him down, so you should probably not give me even more victims by calling out for help."

Tim felt his heart constrict. Tony was dead? Was that what had awakened him? Had he heard the shot?

"No," he whispered again.

"Just saying it doesn't change reality, Agent McGee. Now, you were wanting to know who I am. My name is Elijah, the prophet. Why don't you turn on the lamp?"

Tim was struggling not to break down. Tony had been there because of him and he had died for it. Another death because of him. But he did as he was told. What did it matter now?

He flicked on the small bedside lamp and saw the killer for the first time. He was strangely normal in appearance. Balding, thin-faced, and getting older, although he wasn't old yet. Probably a few years older than Tony and quite a few years younger than Gibbs, but he also looked very strong in spite of his drab appearance. It was so strange to see this man now. He didn't have insanity blazing out of his eyes as Tim might have guessed. His eyes were even more terrifying. They were empty. He was smiling but there was nothing in his eyes at all, almost as if he was dead already but hadn't yet realized it.

"You see? I'm the master. Sometimes, the student might fail but it's not the fault of the teacher if the student refuses to learn. I told Paul over and over that he needed to be willing to adapt to circumstances, but he refused to learn. In a way, you did me a favor. It was hard but I learned. I want _you_ to die, though, knowing how _you_ failed. Aytichiphobia. Heard of it?"

"No."

"That doesn't surprise me. You're not smart enough. Fear of failure. And you've failed. You're going to die. Are you afraid?"

"I already almost killed myself," Tim whispered. "What are you waiting for?"

Maybe the shot would alert Ducky. A gunshot would definitely get him calling for help at the very least and maybe they'd find him this time.

Another victim to add to the list, along with Tony.

The smile widened.

"But you failed to do that, too. Failure hurts, doesn't it. Knowing that you failed time after time, knowing that you _should_ be able to succeed but you aren't, knowing it's your fault that you didn't. I just wanted you to know before you died, before I killed you. I wanted you to know that you lost, and that you'll never be able to stop me. No one will. I can keep killing forever."

Tim closed his eyes and tried not to flinch at the coming shot. He knew it was coming. This man had killed too often for Tim to think he wasn't willing to do it again. A timeless moment of waiting.

But then, in that timeless moment, something that Ducky had told him flashed through his mind. The killer had stopped because he had lived, not because he had died. And here, he was saying that he'd get away and keep killing once Tim was dead.

More than anything else, Tim didn't want to die knowing that this man was going to keep on killing, that nothing would stop him, that he would get away.

_But he might not get away if I make enough noise to wake up Ducky._

That meant fighting, even if he died anyway. For obvious reasons, Tim had no weapons with him, not a gun, not a knife. Nothing. Still, it didn't matter. Tim didn't care so much whether he lived or died, especially knowing that he could add Tony's death to his conscience. So what did he have to lose? Nothing.

Without another thought, Tim punched the man right in the face, feeling some vague satisfaction that he'd been able to cause some pain to the man who had given him so much pain. In reality, he expected to die right in that moment. He thought that the instant reaction would be for the man to shoot in retaliation, and he _was_ right, but the movement was so unexpected that the man reeled backward, and the gun pulled away from Tim's head right as he pulled the trigger. It went off, still very close to Tim's ear, the roar seeming much louder than normal in the formerly silent house. Too quickly, the man recovered and grabbed Tim, wrapping his arm around Tim's throat, pressing painfully on it. Tim fought as hard as he could to escape that grip, but the man was far too strong for Tim to break the hold the man had around his throat. Tim's arms flailed out and one painfully hit the lamp that then flew into the wall. The light bulb shattered and the room was plunged into darkness again.

Then, in the midst of his weakening struggle, the door opened.

"Drop the gun!" a voice shouted.

Suddenly, Tim was yanked around to face a new silhouetted figure, partially blinded by the light from the hallway, partially struggling to breathe as the arm around his neck tightened, and feeling the gun against his temple again.

"He's dead if you take another step. You've worked so hard to keep him alive. Do you want to fail now?"

"Put down the gun. Let him go."

The voice was gradually fading as Tim tried to free himself from the arm that was slowly cutting off all his air flow. Black spots were swimming in his view, blocking even the silhouette from sight.

Then, he was being dragged backward. He only knew that because he felt his feet moving along the floor. He was nearly unconscious at this point, but he was still struggling the little bit he could manage in an attempt to get a breath, even just one. He almost wished the guy would just kill him just so that he didn't have to worry about breathing.

After an interminable amount of time wherein he heard and saw absolutely nothing, suddenly, he was flung violently forward. He collided with something very solid, but whatever else was going on, all he cared about was the fact that he could finally take a breath and he began gasping for the air he'd been denied, sliding toward the floor, coughing and trying to inhale at the same time.

"Ducky, take care of him."

"Go."

Then, Tim heard thumping and running and shouting, but all of that was not as important as the fact that he could breathe again. He began to cough, almost gagging as he hyperventilated. Someone was there, supporting him, but unfortunately, no one could actually do the breathing for him.

"Calm down, Timothy. You're all right. You're all right. Just breathe as slowly as you can."

As he struggled to breathe normally, his vision started to return and he realized he was staring at Ducky who was looking at him with concern.

"Timothy, can you hear me?"

Tim managed to nod while still mostly focused on his breathing.

"Tony... he's..." but that was all he could get out while he was trying to breathe.

"He'll be back soon," Ducky said.

Tim shook his head. "No... dead... he..."

"No, he's not, Timothy. Why would you think that Anthony was dead? You just saw him."

Tim shook his head again.

Then, there was more shouting, from outside in Ducky's garden.

"Drop the gun, Jones! Come out with your hands up!"

The voice was familiar.

"There's no way out of this!"

That voice was familiar, too.

"Timothy..."

Tim shook his head a third time, this time because he really wanted hear what was happening. Standing up didn't seem like a valid possibility at the moment, but he could hear.

"You only think there's no way out of this! There's always a way out! You don't win! You never win! I win!"

Then, there was a single gunshot, followed by silence.

Tim was still breathing more heavily than normal, but he was now waiting to hear something other than the silence. Who else had died? Who else had been killed? Had he got away? The questions were crowding his mind to the extent that he couldn't think of anything else than understanding what that silence meant.

"Timothy..."

"No."

Ducky couldn't answer any of his questions. He had to know how much more guilt he would have to feel. How many more deaths...

The silence lengthened out, until Tim felt like he would have to scream or something just to break the tension he felt. Tony was dead. Who else?

Then, there was the sound of a door opening and a slow, heavy tread coming toward them. Tim wasn't afraid of that, even as he felt Ducky tensing slightly. He didn't care about anything other than knowing what had just happened.

The silhouette was back.

"You okay with me turning on the light, Ducky?"

"Of course."

The light went on and Tim closed his eyes in reaction to the sudden brightness.

"Tim, you okay? And please, don't get mad at me for asking this time."

Tim felt the constriction in his chest loosen just slightly and his eyes popped open, but they were still adjusting to the light and he had to blink to clear his vision.

"Tony?"

"Yeah, who did you expect?"

"Y-You were... He killed you."

Tony was right there, but Tim was finding it hard to believe. For some reason, he couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Tony was right there in front of him, alive. Looking confused, actually.

"No, he didn't. What are you talking about?"

"He... He killed you."

The confusion changed to outright concern.

"No, Tim. Why are you saying he killed me? I'm very obviously alive. He only shot himself. Coward," Tony said, darkly.

"He's dead?" Ducky asked.

"Yeah. Refused to come out of your shed. Next thing we knew, he'd shot himself. Balboa's calling it in," Tony said, sounding weary. "There's a mess to clean up."

Tim was still staring at him, trying to understand what was going on. He just couldn't and he didn't know why it was so hard. Then, Tony looked at him again.

"Tim... why are you looking at me like that? You're starting to freak me out. Say something!"

Tim actually reached out and touched Tony on the arm. He was really there. He wasn't dead, and the relief that he didn't have Tony's death on his conscience was so sudden and so intense that Tim started crying. He covered his face and sobbed.

"Tim, what's going on? Ducky, what is–?"

There was an arm around him and then a gentle rocking.

"It's all right, Timothy. You're safe. Everything is fine."

Tim tried to explain that he didn't care about himself, that he wasn't worried about his own safety, but he couldn't get the words out through his gasps for air as he cried.

"It's all right, Timothy. Just try to calm down. Everything else can wait."

Tim knew he shouldn't be acting like this and he tried to control himself, but a part of him just refused to accept that he didn't have to carry the weight of Tony's death. It kept him freaking out, unable to calm down, unable to act like a rational human being. He was simultaneously embarrassed, relieved and terrified.

After a while, he felt hands pulling his own hands from covering his face.

"All right, Timothy, it's time to stop now. Anthony, go and get some ice from the freezer and put it in a towel. Timothy, I want you to count backwards from 100. Go by threes. One hundred, ninety-seven, ninety-four. What's next?"

Tim could hear him.

"What's next, Timothy? After ninety-four comes..."

"N-Ninety-one."

"Good. Next?"

"Eighty-eight. E-Eighty-five."

"Keep going."

"Eighty-two. Eighty... No..."

"It's all right. Next?"

"Seventy-nine."

"Yes."

Tim continued to count down by threes, with Ducky encouraging him all along the way.

"Fifty-eight."

"Thank you, Anthony."

Then, Tim was startled when he felt something cold on his neck.

"Keep going, Timothy."

"Fifty-five, fifty-two, forty... nine."

"Excellent. You're doing just fine. Now, I'm going to help you cool down and relax. Keep counting until you get to the end."

"Forty-six, forty-three, forty."

Tim sat there, counting backwards by threes, slowly feeling less like the world was ending and more like he could think rationally. His eyes were still closed but he wasn't about to pass out anymore. Ducky moved the ice around, not leaving it anywhere for a long period of time, mostly just long enough for Tim to realize it was there and that it actually felt quite nice.

"Ten, seven, four, one... negative two."

Ducky chuckled.

"Very good. That's far enough. Now, open your eyes, Timothy."

Tim did and saw both Tony and Ducky there. He also saw Balboa standing behind them in the doorway and he felt embarrassed.

"While I'm glad to see a little color in your cheeks, Timothy, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Now, do you think you could tell us what caused this?"

Tim looked at Tony.

"He said he killed you," Tim whispered. Then, his eyes dropped to the floor before he could see what reaction there might have been to that statement.

There was a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it almost painfully tightly.

"Tim... he... Don't ever let anyone use me to make you feel guilty, okay? I'll tell you right now that, even if you actually were responsible in some way, I wouldn't want you to feel guilty."

Tim felt his throat tighten, but it wasn't in the overwhelming way he'd felt before. He swallowed hard.

"He said he'd killed you and that... if I made any noise, he'd kill Ducky, too. I was just going to let him kill me."

"No. Tim, that's..." Then, Tony stopped speaking.

"Just to make it all stop, but then... then, he said that... that he'd just keep on killing forever, that there was no one who could stop him. Even if I died, it wouldn't be enough. And so, I thought that... that maybe I could make enough noise that Ducky would hear before he killed me. If I could fight back just enough, maybe Ducky would hear and be able to stop him."

"Is that where those cuts came from?" Ducky asked.

"Cuts?"

"Your hand, Timothy."

Tim looked at his right hand and the back of it was covered with small cuts, that extended halfway up his forearm. They weren't bleeding too badly but they were there.

"I guess. I think I broke your lamp. Sorry."

"That's all right."

"There's going to be a big crowd here in not too long, Ducky," Balboa said. "I'm not sure what you want to do."

"Tim doesn't need to stay here," Tony said, quickly. "We'll get his official statement later, and both of us heard what he said. We'll be here for what we need."

"Gibbs is on his way over, and I'll get Jensen and Torrance, too," Balboa said.

Now that he was mostly calm again, Tim felt incredibly tired. All he wanted was to go to sleep and not have to think about what had just happened, what he had believed and what he'd had to do. In fact, he would have crawled back into bed and gone to sleep if it wasn't for the fact that there were all these other people in the room.

"And we'll need to get the FBI here, too," Tony added. "We can use their M.E. this one time, Ducky."

The conversations were continuing pretty much over his head. Tim really felt a little dazed. He could hear and understand everything being said, but he didn't feel the need to do anything about it. He just sat where he was, halfway leaning on Ducky, Tony still squeezing his shoulder.

"Very well, I think we'll go to Jethro's house. He'll have an extra bed and it will be out of the way."

"Sounds good. Tim, you ready to stand up?"

"What?" Tim asked, still feeling a little out of it.

"We're going to have you go to Gibbs' place to let you get some sleep."

"Oh. Yeah, whatever."

"Okay. Then, you have to stand up."

"Oh."

Tim sat there for a second, but then stood easily enough when Tony grabbed his uninjured hand and pulled him to his feet. Ducky put a supporting arm around his waist and led Tim out to his car.

"Come along, Timothy. You still won't be alone tonight, but you can sleep, I hope."

"Okay."

They started away from the house, weaving through the police cars that were pulling up. Tim heard the sirens and sat up for a moment.

"It's all right, Timothy. It's not going to involve us. At least, not tonight."

Tim relaxed and leaned back on the seat. A wave of exhaustion swept over him. He didn't bother to fight it. Instead, he slept.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

As soon as Tim and Ducky were gone, Tony walked over to the bed and sat down, rubbing his hand over his face. Balboa sat down beside him.

"Good job, DiNozzo."

Tony shook his head. "How did he even get in? Every door was locked. Every window was closed. He shouldn't have been able to get in! At least, not without my hearing him. I was awake!"

"We never told Tim we thought Jones would be looking for him," Balboa said. "He could have opened the window in here himself. That's all it would have taken. That and someone determined enough to find a path through all the adjoining yards in this area."

Tony swore feelingly.

"You moved as soon as you heard something," Balboa said. "We stopped him."

" _We_ didn't. He stopped himself."

"Tony, as soon as the others get here, you should take a break. There'll be plenty of police here to take control."

"You trying to get rid of me again?" Tony asked. "That's what you said after Ahrendson, too."

"Yes, I am. Because we both know that you've had a lot to deal with and I know that you need the break. In fact, if I can convince Gibbs, you'll be getting more than just a night. Now that Jones is out of the way, there's no reason for you _not_ to take some time off."

"Except that Gibbs won't have a team to lead."

Balboa smiled. "Good. Then, he can take it easy for a while, too. You guys seem to think that working yourselves to death is admirable, but it's silly when it's unnecessary."

"Silly?"

"Yes. Silly. So listen to someone smarter than you for once."

Tony laughed a little and then sighed.

"Tim was willing to die if it would have saved a single person."

"Most of us would feel the same way."

"Not the same."

"No, it's not, but he'll get out of this, especially now that Jones is dead. I know this isn't the first serial killer for either one of you, but still... Two, back-to-back, and both making it personal... Take a break while you can. Tim has time to recover. You take time, too."

"Not as bad for me."

Balboa rolled his eyes. "So what? Who cares? Stop comparing like that. If you need time, you need time. If Tim needs a few months and you only need a few days, so what? It doesn't change the fact that you still need time. Are you an experienced agent who understands how these things work or are you ten years old and still think that everyone is exactly the same?"

Tony was surprised that Balboa had actually made him feel a little sheepish. Not many people could do that. He really couldn't decide if he wanted to be annoyed at the comparison or embarrassed at the accuracy.

"So why aren't you running an MCRT?"

"Because I'm smarter than you guys," Balboa said, smiling. "I like taking the less serious cases. Stuff like this? Not my preference. I don't want to take it home with me and I would. I know myself well enough to know that. I'll do it because it needs doing, but mostly, I prefer to worry about theft, guys going UA, simpler things. Most don't feel the same way I do, but that's okay because that means I don't have to fight to stay where I am." He thumped Tony on the shoulder and stood up. "Now, hang out until the others get here, of course, but then, I'm going to make sure you leave and if I have to browbeat Gibbs to get him to agree with me, I will."

"You? Browbeat Gibbs?" Tony repeated. "I'd like to see that."

"Oh, the nice thing about Gibbs is that he knows when I'm right and if I say it right, he won't think he has to be troublesome." Balboa grinned and then left the room.

Tony could hear the approaching sirens and he had to admit that, as he had felt with Ahrendson, the idea of being able to get out of here and not have to help out with all the cleanup was very appealing. He sat there on the bed until he heard people coming inside. Then, he took a breath and stood up. He walked out to the main room, unsurprised to see NCIS and FBI people there.

"Metro?"

"Securing a perimeter while we get everything done," Gibbs said. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"But he's just leaving," Balboa said.

"You should," Jensen said. "We got this and at the very least, you can get some sleep."

"Where are Tim and Ducky?" Torrance asked.

"Gibbs' place," Balboa said.

No one asked if Tim was okay.

Tony looked at Gibbs. Gibbs just raised an eyebrow like he was surprised Tony was there at all, even though both of them knew that Tony wouldn't have just left.

"You all right, Boss?" he asked.

"He won't stay long, either," Balboa said. "Stop worrying, DiNozzo. Just go before they stop letting even official cars out."

Balboa was clearly establishing control of the crime scene and Tony knew why, and he also respected him for it, given that he had said he didn't like having to do these cases. So Tony nodded.

"Okay, okay. I can see when I'm not wanted."

To his surprise, Torrance walked over and hugged him tightly (basically, around the waist).

"You're always wanted, Tony. That's why we're telling you to go."

Tony raised an eyebrow at Jensen.

"Don't look at me. She's been hugging me, too. I think she's taking Abby lessons."

Torrance let Tony go and grinned.

"Maybe she has the right idea...at least in some things."

"No tattoos for you, then?" Tony asked.

"Not a chance. I don't like needles."

"Get out of here, Tony," Balboa said.

Tony saluted and left Ducky's house. He waved at Fornell and Sacks who were both talking to Metro, and then got into his car and left the crime scene, relieved to get away.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky was _not_ at all tired, in spite of the fact that it was currently about three a.m. and he'd had far too little sleep as it was. Instead, he was sitting on the couch, thinking about what had just happened, how quickly everything had ended.

And how close they had come to losing Tim again, not because of suicide but because of the same feelings that had initially driven him to it. That Jones had been willing to lie just to turn the screw one more time seemed somehow worse. The callousness of wanting to cause such intense psychological pain in someone already hurting. It bespoke a complete lack of feeling or else a sadistic glee at beholding agony in another. Either way, even discounting the multiple murders he had committed, Jones was definitely either psychotic or sociopathic. In any case, Ducky was glad he was dead and that none of them had to deal with him any longer.

Tim was currently sleeping in the spare room...with the door ajar. He hadn't said a word when they came into the house. He'd slept all the way to Gibbs' place, awakened long enough to walk into the house and into the spare room. He'd allowed Ducky to treat the cuts on his hand and arm, none of which were serious enough to warrant stitches. Then, he had apparently gone right back to sleep. Ducky wasn't sure that would last, though. This had been extremely traumatic. Tim's breakdown at realizing that Tony was not dead had been more than a little shocking, especially since none of them had even known what was causing it at first.

The front door opened and Ducky turned quickly, having a brief moment of worrying that someone else would be coming after Tim now.

"Hey, Duck. How's he doing?" Tony asked, softly.

"Anthony." Ducky took a breath and smiled. "What brings you here at this hour?"

"Dan sent me packing. Didn't want to go home, but I was glad to get away, too. Figured it wouldn't hurt to come by."

"Certainly not. You look tired."

Tony sat down and then slumped down on the couch.

"Tim still isn't okay," he whispered.

"Of course he isn't. It will take time."

"This made it worse."

"Temporarily, yes, but I think it actually might have helped him as well. He fought back, Anthony. Timothy considered letting himself die, but he fought back."

"He still thought he'd die and he didn't care."

"Yes, and that is the part that still needs to heal, but it isn't as bad as you seem to think it is. Even if Timothy's struggles increase in the short term, I think they'll drastically improve long-term."

"Maybe."

"Why don't you just sleep on the couch, Anthony? There are a few extra blankets."

"I don't need to..." Tony started to protested but subsided as Ducky forced him to lie back. Tony's eyes closed and he was asleep quite quickly.

Ducky smiled. What they all needed was some calm to give them time to regroup and get back to their lives. For some, it would take longer than others. Even Ducky himself could see that he'd need a little bit of time to get over having his home be the site of the final takedown. Having a man, no matter how heinous, kill himself in the garden shed was not a pleasant thought.

He sat on a chair for a while, but then, he heard something from the spare room. Quickly, he got up and walked into the room, hoping that whatever it was, it wouldn't be serious and wouldn't disturb Tony who deserved some uninterrupted sleep.

Tim was lying in bed, stiff as a board and making noises. Ducky wasn't surprised at all. He would have been more surprised if Tim had slept peacefully through the night. He sat down on the edge of the bed and began the process of trying to get Tim through the terror and calm and quiet again, hopefully without it becoming too loud.

"It's all right, Timothy. If you need to escape what you see, you can always wake up. What you're seeing is not real," Ducky said in a whisper.

For a little while, it seemed like Tim didn't hear. He was still very tense, moaning a little bit, but Ducky persisted and finally, Tim's eyes opened and he looked at Ducky with fear.

"It's just me, Timothy."

Tim's eyes closed again as he tried to calm himself down.

"It's all right, lad. A nightmare?"

Tim nodded.

"Understandable under the circumstances."

Tim sat up and shook his head.

"No, Ducky," he whispered. "It's not. I should be able to act like an adult, not a child scared of the dark."

"You're not acting that way, Timothy," Ducky said. "You have gone through a lot tonight, not the least of which was an attempt on your life."

"I believed him. He said that he'd killed Tony and I believed him. A serial killer tells me something and I don't even question."

Ducky shook Tim a little bit.

"No, Timothy. Don't fall into that trap again. Get yourself out of the mind set that has you thinking of yourself as weak or wanting in some way simply because you're not acting like normal yet. Give yourself a chance."

"I fell apart because I..." Tim stopped abruptly.

"You fell apart because you were relieved to know that your friend and colleague was still alive when you believed he was dead."

"I shouldn't have."

"Timothy, what are you trying to do? Get me to say that you're a failure somehow? Well, I won't. You're not."

There was a long silence. Then, Tim sighed.

"I hate feeling like this, Ducky. I really hate it. I can't see any way to get out of it. I'm just in this kind of...hole. And I know nobody else is in here with me, and I know that it's not the way I should be feeling or thinking or acting... but the walls are just too high for me to climb out. The hole is too deep. I'm stuck here, Ducky. I'm stuck down here and I can't get out."

Ducky smiled.

"The wonderful thing, lad, is that you're _not_ down there by yourself. Yes, you are stuck there for now, but there are many of us reaching down to pull you out, we are reaching down with long arms, ready to help. All that is required of you is that you reach up and meet us part way. If you do, we'll pull you out of that hole, but you have to do _something_ yourself. You can't just stay down there and hope the hole will suddenly disappear."

Tim was quiet for a while. Ducky let him think. The fact that Tim was aware of how extreme his emotions were was a good thing. It showed that he wasn't just embracing how he felt. He couldn't see how to stop feeling that way but he knew it wasn't normal.

"Maybe... Maybe I should..." Tim stopped and he seemed very reluctant to share whatever he'd thought of.

"What, Timothy?"

"Maybe I should... go back to the hospital for a little while. ...but..." Tim shook his head. "... I just... I really don't want to have to be on suicide watch again. I don't want to have them watching me all the time. I really hate that. I just... I don't feel like I can..."

"Are you feeling suicidal, Timothy?" Ducky asked.

"No."

"Good. Then, I don't believe that a suicide watch would be necessary. That was a necessity when you had already attempted suicide, but you're not this time. If you tell me that you don't feel suicidal, I believe you. If you think you need a little extra help to get you through this situation, you have my complete support."

"What will the others think? They already think that I... They already can't see beyond what I almost did. What will they think if I go back?"

"Timothy, your mental health is much more important than others' perceptions of you. Do _not_ allow others to dictate whether or not a hospital stay is warranted when you think it is. If they worry more for a while, that is to be expected, but you shouldn't think that you have no other option other than to deal with this when you feel incapable of doing so."

"Will they let me out again?"

"Of course. I will even speak to Dr. Saunders first, if you'd like, and get as much information about your stay as possible."

Tim nodded.

"I'm sorry, Ducky. I don't know why this... I don't know why I can't handle this."

Ducky gave Tim a quick hug.

"I do. It's because you have a psychological injury that has not had time to heal. The injury began a few months ago and then was reopened too many times. Now, it's starting to heal, but you had another aggravation to that psychological wound just a few hours ago. That's not your fault and now you simply have to get to the point where the healing can continue again. Instead of berating yourself for not healing instantly, just let yourself heal naturally. You'll find that it will make everything much easier for yourself and, if that worries you, for everyone around you, too."

Tim sighed.

"Would you like me to call Dr. Saunders?"

"Yeah," Tim said, softly.

"All right. Do you think you could go back to sleep? I wouldn't want to call him so early in the morning, unless you feel it necessary."

"I can wait."

"But can you sleep?" Ducky asked.

"I don't know."

"Would you like to try?"

"No. Not really."

"That's fine. I will confess that I'm not very tired myself after what happened in my home. I'm sorry that it was not the place of refuge I thought it would be for you."

"You had no way of knowing, Ducky."

"Actually, Timothy, I'm sorry but we didn't tell you our suspicions, not wanting to cause you more worry when you had plenty as it was."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that we had suspected Jones might still wish to come after you to finish the job, so to speak. That was the real reason that Jethro and Anthony were staying here. Some of it was worry because of your mental health, but they were also worried about Jones. There has been someone out on the street as well every night. Unfortunately, I think he got in through the window in your bedroom. It was open."

"I thought I'd closed it, but I had opened it earlier," Tim said.

"Yes, and perhaps we should have trusted you more than we did. You would not have done that if you had known. I apologize."

Ducky watched as Tim was obviously deciding whether or not to be upset or angry or irritated that they had hidden that information from him. Then, he just sighed.

"It doesn't matter, Ducky. I don't see any reason to get mad right now. It's too hard."

It was both a relief and a concern that Tim couldn't even stir himself to feel any emotion about being completely unaware of what they had known of the risks. A few days in the hospital to help him deal with how overwhelming everything had been for him was probably a good thing when he was so recently at an all-time low. Convincing the others, particularly Tony, that this did not mean Tim was suicidal again might be difficult but Ducky was glad that Tim was recognizing the need for help and was actually asking for it. It was reluctant but at the same, he was doing it and that was good.

Tim sighed once more and then got out of bed. He walked out of the room and saw Tony sleeping on the couch.

"What's Tony doing here?" Tim asked.

"He wanted to be here," Ducky said.

"Why? Do you think someone else might be after me now?"

"No. Not at all. It's for the reasons you might expect."

"Oh."

It was clear that Tim wasn't too thrilled by that, but he also had a look of relief in his eyes at seeing once again that Tony was safe and had not been killed. He stared for a few seconds and then walked back into the bedroom and got back into bed.

...and the next morning, he went back to the hospital.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

"You seem a lot more uncertain about leaving this time, Tim," Dr. Saunders said.

"You weren't always staring at me this time," Tim said. "I don't know what's been going on out there and I'm not sure I can handle it."

"You've had plenty of visitors."

"And they haven't said a single word about the case or anything. I freaked out. I shouldn't have, but I did. What if I do that again for no reason?"

Dr. Saunders sat down beside Tim.

"You had plenty of reasons to freak out, Tim. Give yourself time."

Tim looked over toward the doors. No one was there yet. He actually wasn't sure about who was coming to get him this time.

"What are they all going to be thinking of me now?" he asked, not looking at Dr. Saunders.

"Instead of worrying about that, just rely on what you _know_ they'll be thinking."

"What do you mean?"

"You know that they'll be worried about how you're doing. You know that they'll be happy you're getting out of the hospital and you know that they'll want to help you, maybe even more than you want to be helped. You know that they care. Focus on the things you know rather than worrying about what they _might_ be thinking."

"I just want to put this behind me, forget about it."

"Forgetting is a bad idea," Dr. Saunders said. "While you shouldn't dwell on it and use it as evidence of your mistakes, remembering what drove you to this extreme can help you to avoid it in the future."

"Can I let the others forget it, then?" Tim asked and then smiled weakly. "Mass amnesia?"

Dr. Saunders smiled. "I don't think you need to bring it up constantly, but it's good for _them_ to remember what happened, too, but only insofar as it helps them know what help you might need. ...but at the same time, Tim, you need to be patient with them and with yourself as you _all_ are working through this. There's no set way it has to happen. You just need to remember that it's okay if they overstep a little and it's okay if you have to step back a little. Take it easy on yourself _and_ on them."

Tim smiled a little and nodded.

"And one more thing?"

"Yeah?"

"Try smiling more. It will help, even if it doesn't seem like it."

"I'll work on that," Tim said.

And finally, the door opened, and Tim was surprised to see Balboa coming in, not any of his team or even Ducky. He stood up.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Balboa smiled. "Yeah, I know. I'm not who you expected, but Tony was literally heading toward the elevator to come here when there was something that came up," he said. "So I offered to come and pick you up. Ducky came down with a cold yesterday and decided to take a sick day, so he's already at home. I'm just going to drop you off at his place and head back to work."

Tim felt a little wary.

"This isn't a ploy for a party or anything, is it?" he asked. "Because I'm really not in the mood for a party."

"Cross my heart," Balboa said. "I'm just taking you to Ducky's place and so far as I know only Ducky will be there."

"Okay." Tim took a breath and turned back to Dr. Saunders. "Tomorrow."

"That's right, and if you have any problems, you can call. You're doing a lot better, and still needing help doesn't negate that, okay?"

"Okay."

Tim shook Dr. Saunders' hand and then followed Balboa out of the hospital.

"Glad to be out again?" he asked.

"I don't know. What's been happening?"

"How much detail do you want?" Balboa asked.

Tim thought about it because he could tell that it was a genuine question. Did he really want to know all the nitty-gritty details about a serial killer? No.

"Just the highlights."

They got into the car.

"Good choice. That's what I would have picked, too. Well, there's really no question at this point that Jones was the killer. We found his base of operations yesterday. And that's been no fun to process, let me tell you. The FBI is taking over a lot of the wrap up simply because they can have jurisdiction over pretty much all of it and it's easier for them to coordinate with all the local LEOs as well as us. So NCIS is pretty much finished beyond Jones' residence. Since he chose to kill himself, there won't be any kind of a trial, but we have to make sure all our t's are crossed and our i's dotted. Last thing we want is for something to get messed up."

"What about the families?"

Balboa gave him a sympathetic glance.

"They're grieving, McGee. Glad to know the killer is dead but they still have lost a family member and that doesn't change. I haven't talk to all of them, of course, but they've been on the news."

"Any blame?"

"Some, but not much and the blame is mostly coming from the media, not from the families of the victims." He paused. "And none of it is directed at you."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've watched the news. There are some who resent us keeping the details from the public, but no one has said a word about you. We've managed to keep your name mostly out of the news. So there hasn't been anything about the problems you've been having or anything like that."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Tim lapsed into silence, thinking about the fact that it seemed as though there would be no publicity attached to him, that he might be able to avoid that particular overwhelming situation. It was a distinct relief. As with Ahrendson, he didn't want any attention about it, good or bad. The attention he'd get from the people he actually knew would be hard enough. Attention from the public would be completely unwelcome.

"Tim? We're here."

"Oh." Tim pulled himself out of his thoughts and saw that they were, indeed, at Ducky's place. He took a breath and let it out slowly.

"Nervous?"

"Yeah. I have to go back to reality now and it's hard."

"I think it'll be worth it."

"I hope so."

"Well, good luck, and I'll see you when you're ready to come back. We're all looking forward to it."

"Are you?" Tim asked. "I would think it'd be a relief to have me gone. I've caused a lot of problems the last little while. Thanks for the ride."

Tim reached out for the door handle.

"Tim, wait a minute."

"Yeah?"

Tim looked back and Balboa looked very serious.

"I know that you're still working through this, and I know that I'm the last one you'd expect to hear this from, but listen, Tim. We want you to come back. We want to see you back to normal as much as you can be. It's not the same without you there on the other side of the dividers. We care. If you don't _want_ to come back, I'd support you in that, but if it's just that you're thinking _we_ don't want you back? Put that right out of your head. We aren't thinking that at all, but I do think you shouldn't rush yourself in coming back. Take the time you need."

He smiled, then, and slugged Tim lightly on the arm.

"And remember that you're strong enough to get through it all. The path might take a while and might be frustrating at times, but you can do it. And you've got a big cheerleading squad. Heck, we'll get pom-poms if you want."

Tim laughed. "No, that's all right."

"Okay. Don't say I didn't offer. If I mention it to Torrance, you know it'll happen. Or Abby."

"You don't have to mention it to either of them," Tim said, feeling more like smiling than he had in days.

"I don't, but I might. I might not. Now, go on inside and relax."

"Okay. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Tim got out of the car and headed for the front door. He knocked softly, worrying slightly that he'd be bothering Ducky, but the door opened very quickly and Ducky smiled when he saw Tim standing on his porch.

"Timothy," he said, his voice slightly raspy. "I'm thrilled to have you here. I hope I don't give you my cold. Come inside."

"No one else is here, right?"

"No one. Who were you expecting?"

"I wasn't sure. When Agent Balboa showed up..."

"Ah. No, I think I've thoroughly convinced everyone that a party would not be appropriate for the time being. However, I'm not sure you'll be able to hold them off forever," Ducky said. "Perhaps in a little while, you'll be ready to celebrate."

"Maybe," Tim said, doubtfully. "Maybe not."

"Don't make any firm decisions right now. Just come in. I was about to make some soup for lunch. Would you like to join me?" Ducky waved at Balboa who drove away as they walked inside.

"Sure, but Ducky, you're sick," Tim said. "You don't need to cook for me."

"Oh, believe me, I'm not cooking. Every so often, all I want is to open a can of soup and heat it up. That's what I'm doing for lunch. Now, I may let you cook dinner if you're so inclined, but lunch is going to be very simple."

"Okay..."

"Don't worry so much, lad. After lunch, I'm going to take a nap. If I take some time now at the beginning, I find that the rest of the illness isn't so bad. Give yourself the same courtesy."

Tim allowed himself to be directed to the kitchen with only minor protests.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tony was back at his desk, still cursing the last-minute meeting that had required both Gibbs and himself to give a report on how the entire case had progressed, answering questions about whether or not Tim was fit to come back to work. Tony would have been irate at some of the questions, but this was going to SecNav and he didn't want to have anything tarnish Tim, not even a spirited defense of his actions. It was nice of Balboa to help out, but still...

The elevator dinged and Balboa got off as soon as the doors opened. Tony leapt to his feet and walked over to accost him.

"How was he?" Tony asked.

Balboa smiled. "He's okay, Tony. He's still a little pale and he's still a little shaky, but he looks way better than he did a few days ago. No parties yet."

"I wasn't thinking a party."

"I know, but maybe you should, Tony."

"Huh? You just said he didn't want one."

Balboa smiled. "He doesn't, but that doesn't mean you can't think about this as something good going on, and I know you. You like partying. You like celebrating, but I think you're afraid to."

"He already went back to the hospital once."

"Because he needed to." For a moment, Balboa looked at Tony. Then, he seemed to come to a decision. "Tony, come with me."

"Why?"

Balboa smiled and rolled his eyes. "Because I said so. I'll explain, but I don't want to shout it out to the whole world."

"Okay..."

Tony followed Balboa into a conference room.

"Don't worry," Balboa said. "This won't take long, and I'll take the blame if Gibbs gets irritated."

"Okay."

"Tony, you need to let Tim get better."

" _Let_ him? I'm not stopping him. I want him to," Tony said, feeling more than a little irritated. "Do you think I like what's been happening?"

"No, I don't, but you're so afraid that he won't that you're more likely to hold him back than help him."

"What am I supposed to do?" Tony asked, angrily. "Just stand there and watch if he falls again? I didn't pay close enough attention before and I should have. I could have stopped it from getting this far!"

"Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe everything would have happened in the same way if you _had_ been paying closer attention." Balboa shook his head. "Tony, my own mother attempted suicide three times."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," Tony said, a little shocked.

"I didn't expect you to. I haven't told anyone here, except Ducky. Well, Stan knows, but he's not here anymore. She was bipolar and it was much less understood back then. Every time it happened, we would try to watch her more closely, try to keep her from trying again, try to help her, but it got so that we pushed her further and further away because we were so afraid of losing her. Our fear became more important than she was. Eventually, we did lose her in spite of everything we tried. The fourth time. Tony, you don't have to expect it with Tim. He's getting the help he needs. He's _not_ bipolar. He's doing a lot better. It'll take time and, sure, you should pay attention, but if you focus only what _almost_ happened, you'll miss what's actually happening now and even if you don't lose him to suicide, you might still lose him as a friend. So _let_ him heal. He will, and if you give him a chance, he might even ask you for help along the way."

Tony felt angry for a few seconds and then, he sighed and sat down on a chair. Balboa sat down by him.

"I'm not telling you this because you're failing in some way. It's just that I know how it feels to be afraid of losing someone you care about, especially to suicide. I don't know that there's anything we could have done for my mother beyond strapping her to a bed or putting her in a straightjacket that would have stopped her from listening to the voices she heard telling her to die. But I do know that my fear took over everything else and I was miserable and she was miserable and in the end, it didn't do any good. So yes, be there for him, watch if he starts to falter again, but don't be afraid...or at least, don't be so afraid that you can't see that he's doing better."

"So do you give this pep talk to everyone?" Tony asked, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat.

"Nope. Only the ones I think need it. Thankfully, I haven't had to deal with suicide a whole lot since then. And if you need a listening ear, you can always ask for help yourself. I know Gibbs is making you talk to a therapist for a while, but I'm not trained. Just experienced with seeing that kind of thing happen."

"I'm sorry you are."

"Me, too," Balboa said. "Anyway, just my advice. Take it as you like. Everyone works through these things in their own way."

Then, he stood up to leave.

"Hey... Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"Hey, why do you think I've been so understanding with Will's emotional ups and downs while he's been going through the divorce and custody hearings? When something is personal, it affects everything you do. No one is really great at keeping things separated like that because we're one person, not two. Will needed extra patience and he's doing better now that he's got visitation and he's settling into a routine where he can still have a connection to his kids. If something ever manages to bring Torrance down, I'll see what I can do for her, too. Call me mushy if you want, but I wasn't ever a military guy. I wasn't a jock. And I want people to be able to do the best they can."

"What were you?" Tony asked, standing up as well.

Balboa grinned. "I was going to be an elementary school teacher."

"You're lying," Tony said.

"Nope. Scout's honor. I majored in elementary ed and had an emphasis in special education."

"What changed your mind?"

"My cousin. He kept talking up keeping the military safe, and for some reason, that just got to me. The idea that the people who keep us safe have people keeping them safe. That's me, in my own small way."

Tony was actually a little touched by the sentiment. Then, Balboa's grin widened.

"And if I ever decide to be done with NCIS, I can go and get a job teaching first grade."

"What?"

"I've kept up my certification ever since I finished. It's always good to have a backup. You never know what life will bring."

Then, he laughed and walked out of the room, leaving Tony to wonder if that had been an elaborate joke or if he'd been serious.

Regardless, what Tony did see was that the break from thinking about Tim, even just temporarily had helped him loosen up a little bit. Maybe that had been the point, whether it was true or not. Tony wasn't sure. While he knew the other agents fairly well, he'd never really got to know Balboa much simply because there was an unofficial separation between agent and supervisor. And he was a very different team lead than Gibbs. Tony was so used to Gibbs' approach that seeing someone else's approach was a bit disconcerting.

Regardless, he could acknowledge that his worry might be problematic if it was too overbearing. Even his simple question about how Tim was doing had led to Tim overreacting a little bit. He would have to try to balance that. It might be hard, but it was worth trying.

For now, there was work to do.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

Gibbs walked into the bullpen with a coffee cup in his hand for the first time in nearly four months. The coffee was cold-brewed and cold which he wasn't very excited about, but his doctor had told him that, if he wanted to go back to drinking coffee, he had to be careful and cold-brewed was significantly less acidic than his usual. The acid might have saved him initially, but it could still irritate his throat if he wasn't careful.

The diner had been thrilled to have him back and they'd promised to give him cold-brewed coffee for free until he was ready to get back to his usual. Free coffee was not to be sneered at and they were trying to make it taste as much like his usual as they could, given the different brewing process. They had also taken great pains to make sure that he could see his coffee all the time. While the assumption was that the lye had been put into Gibbs' coffee during the busy morning rush, they never had been able to determine just how it had happened, and Gibbs had to admit that he was still a little paranoid about it. Even going back to drinking coffee again was a way of showing that he really had recovered. That things were getting back to normal.

He got to his desk and then looked across at the desk that was still empty.

 _Almost_ back to normal.

Tim was out of the hospital for the second time and was staying with Ducky, but there was no indication of when he'd be returning.

If he would at all.

Gibbs set his coffee down and then decided to see where things were at as far as whether or not Tim would have any trouble coming back. He got up and walked toward the stairs. Then, he stopped and looked back at his desk where the coffee cup was sitting. He walked back, took a breath and picked it up. Instead of leaving it there, he carried it with him as he walked up the stairs to Vance's office.

"Is he in?" Gibbs asked.

Pamela nodded.

"Can I barge in?" he asked, smiling slightly.

She smiled.

"Do you want me to tell him that you actually asked?"

"Nope."

"Go on in, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs nodded and walked into Vance's office.

"What is it, Agent Gibbs?" Vance asked, not even looking up from his desk.

"Has there been any pushback about McGee getting time to recover and come back?"

Vance looked up. "No. Did you expect there to be?"

"After all the questions, yeah."

"I'll admit there were some questions, but I answered them and so did you. If and when Agent McGee is prepared to return to work in any capacity, his job will be here for him. That being said, it would be nice to _know_ if he's coming back or not. It's understandable if he doesn't want to, given everything that happened, but of course, we want him back."

"He'll be back," Gibbs said, although he wasn't confident about that at all.

"You hope," Vance said.

Gibbs didn't answer that.

"I see you're back to coffee. Congratulations."

Gibbs looked at his cup.

"It's cold."

Vance smiled. "Baby steps, even for the great Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Gibbs sat down.

"Not so great," he said.

Vance sobered. "What brought this on?"

"One of my team nearly killing himself and I had no idea he felt that way."

"No one did."

"No. Tony did."

"Agent DiNozzo was worried, but if he had known what Agent McGee planned, it wouldn't have got as far as it did. No one knew, Gibbs. No one."

"I've never been gone for so long and felt so...separate from everything," Gibbs admitted. "If I'd been here all along, maybe I would have known how serious it was. But I didn't know."

"No one is perfect, Gibbs. I can guarantee that McGee won't blame you."

"Maybe he should."

"No," Vance said, firmly. "No, Gibbs. He shouldn't. What good does that do? What good did it do McGee to blame himself for what Jones did? When he comes back, you may need to talk to him, take some time to get back on an even keel, but the _last_ thing you should do is blame yourself. You could blame me. I could have required him to speak to a therapist and I didn't, thinking that having the support of his team would be enough. I was wrong. He needed more and I should have forced him to get more than he got. You could blame me, but again, what good would it do? Don't be afraid to let this go."

"Not going to forget it."

"I didn't say that," Vance said. "I said let it go, not forget it. None of us will forget it, not anytime soon, but we can stop defining everything by it."

Gibbs stood up to leave.

"Gibbs, you probably already know this, but Agent DiNozzo has requested some days off at the end of the week. That will leave you without a team. Maybe you should take some time off as well. Agent Balboa can fill in as needed."

"He doesn't like the major cases."

"I know, but he can handle them and he'll be happy to hand them back to you when you're ready. Give it some thought. The possibility is there."

"Thanks."

Gibbs went back down to his desk. Tony had arrived.

"Hey, Boss. Where were you?"

"Vance."

"Oh." Tony smiled. "Coffee?"

"Cold."

"But coffee?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Gibbs smiled a little, too. They all felt the same way. Letting things get back to normal. Gibbs supposed that would have to include Tim as well. Once he was back, they would need to let things get back to normal.

If they could.

Maybe some real time off would help everyone. He didn't much like falling back on Balboa's team to fulfill _his_ responsibility, but at the same time, Balboa knew that and while he wouldn't enjoy it, he was more than qualified to do it. The only reason he didn't have an MCRT himself was because he didn't want it.

In fact, they could go and help him out right now. They were finishing up at Jones' base of operations, and maybe they could get everything taken care of today.

"Want to go and help out Balboa's team?" Gibbs asked.

"Sure," Tony said. "We can have our share of the misery."

They packed up and headed for the scene. No one enjoyed the time there because the rural shed Jones had rented was clearly the place where he had killed at least two of his victims. The place where their bodies had been allowed to rot had been found first.

An NCIS truck and a car were parked in front of the shed when Gibbs and Tony arrived. They got out and walked to the entrance.

"What are you guys doing here?" Jensen asked.

"Thought you might need some help finishing up," Tony said.

"The more the merrier, but we are almost done," he said.

"I thought you were taking some days off, Tony," Torrance said.

"A couple of days before that," Tony said. "Just need to get to the weekend and then I have next week off."

Balboa walked in from the back.

"Hey, Gibbs. Glutton for punishment?" he asked.

"You okay to take over for us next week?" Gibbs asked.

Balboa raised an eyebrow.

"You're taking a day off, Gibbs?"

"A few."

"Well, since we've suddenly stepped into a parallel universe where _Gibbs_ voluntarily takes days off, I guess I can handle that. And you can definitely help us out here."

Gibbs smiled and nodded. He could see the knowing expression on Balboa's face.

"What do you have left to do?" he asked.

"I was just about to make Torrance get some bolt cutters. I found another room in the back of the shed and it's padlocked. The owner insists that he had nothing stored here himself, so either it's Jones who locked it or someone else who might be wholly unrelated. But we won't know until we open it up."

"I'll get the bolt cutters," Tony said.

"I'll let you run the bolt cutters," Torrance said. "They'll probably be bigger than I am."

Tony grinned. "It wouldn't take much."

Torrance stuck out her tongue and then joined Jensen in packing up some of the evidence they'd collected.

Tony jogged to the truck, grabbed the bolt cutters and then joined Gibbs and Balboa at the separate storage area behind the shed. It was still a part of the same building, but the entrance was separate.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Go for it," Balboa said. "I'm hoping it's empty."

"I'll bet it's not," Tony said. "We couldn't be that lucky."

"Killjoy."

"Open it, DiNozzo," Gibbs said.

Tony nodded and cut the lock off the door. Then, just as a precaution, they all drew their weapons. Balboa counted down and then opened the door quickly.

The room wasn't large, but it was still horrifying.

"Looks like we found where Ahrendson did _his_ planning," Balboa said, his voice quiet.

The walls were covered with pages from the _Gashlycrumb Tinies_ , the originals and then photos of the people he'd killed beneath them. ...and those he'd planned on killing.

It didn't stop at T.

There had also been changes. Pictures crossed out and replaced, apparently changing victims. Multiple times throughout.

"Hey. It's Will," Tony said, suddenly, pointing at W.

Balboa and Gibbs both turned toward the picture at the same time.

Sure enough. Underneath _W is for Winnie embedded in ice_ was a photograph of Will Jensen.

"And it looks like he changed to him," Balboa said, looking at the crossed out photo beside it. He turned his attention to another section of the wall. "Look at this. Daelyn was a replacement, too. He must have changed so that he could keep digging at us."

"T was changed, too," Tony said, pointing at the picture of Tim. "And K. He really did change once he knew that we had figured out his pattern."

Gibbs felt his eyes irresistibly drawn back to J.

_J is for James who took lye by mistake._

He had to suppress a shudder at the reminder of the pain he'd felt, of the horrifying realization of what he'd just done, and the fear that he would die right there. Killed by his coffee. His photo was not a replacement. So his had probably been as random as the others.

It didn't make him feel any better.

"Boss?"

Gibbs tore his gaze away from the J page and looked at Tony.

"You okay?" Tony asked.

"Yeah."

"I was just saying that I'd get the camera and start documenting all this."

"Yeah," Gibbs said. Then, he stepped out of the shed, trying not to show how eager he was to get away from the reminder of what had been done to him. He'd tried to put all that behind him, but he hadn't yet succeeded.

"Gibbs, you want to leave this to us? We really can do it without you, and you know I won't make you take this on in exchange for next week," Balboa said.

"No. I'd rather deal with it now," Gibbs said firmly.

"Your choice," Balboa said.

For the next two hours, they were documenting the shed containing information about the first round of killings. Jensen was shocked when they told him that he'd been on the list. In his mind, it was clear that Tim had not only saved Tony, he had saved Jensen as well by stopping Ahrendson at T. Was it worth the cost? No one could say, but it just added a new layer to everything that had happened.

By the end, Gibbs was feeling more ready to get away from it than ever. If anything else, it had showed him that he really did need a couple of extra days. He wasn't as ready as he had thought. Normally, he would just push through it, but this had almost killed him and had almost killed Tim and it had got to all of them.

They headed back to NCIS, glad to be done. All that remained was to process everything they'd collected, making sure there wasn't something they'd missed and then be sure that the FBI got all the information.

So finally, he went down to make sure that Abby wasn't too overwhelmed with all the material.

As soon as he stepped into the lab, he knew that something was wrong.

Whenever Abby's music didn't threaten to burst his eardrums, he knew something was up.

"Abbs?" he called out. Then, he grimaced and took a sip of his cold coffee. He really wanted to be able to drink things without worrying about whether or not it would hurt. He wanted to be able to raise his voice without worrying about whether or not it would hurt.

He walked around and saw Abby sitting in her office, staring at her computer screen in eerie, non-frenetic silence. He walked into the office.

"Abby?" he asked.

Abby looked up at him and then stood and hugged him tightly.

"This has been bad, Gibbs," she whispered. "Really bad. Can it be good again?"

"Yeah. It can. It'll take time, but it can," he said, softly.

"When you're drinking real coffee again?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Before then, I hope."

Abby pulled back.

"Tim still isn't good. When I visited, he still seems...defeated. I don't like Tim looking defeated, Gibbs. It's so sad. This one hurt."

"Yeah."

He couldn't make things right, but he could try to make sure they'd _be_ better as soon as possible.

"It's gonna be better, Abbs. It is."

No matter how long it might take.


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Tim stayed with Ducky for the next week, with frequent sessions with Dr. Saunders on an outpatient basis, and he started to feel a little better. He was afraid of having to go back to real life. He'd started to break through that darkness that had been surrounding him for the last few months. He'd also started to feel a little isolated. No one had come around during the week. At first, it had been a relief, but then, Tim started to wonder if this was an indication that they didn't want to be around him. He hadn't said that because he knew that Ducky would say that he was reading into it something that wasn't there.

It was Saturday afternoon and he was idly flipping through one of Ducky's poetry books. His mind was less on the poetry and more on how much longer he'd be staying with Ducky rather than going back to his own apartment and getting back to living his life.

Sometimes, he felt like he could just leave right at that moment, but other times, the very idea of it scared him and he didn't think he could ever do it.

For some reason, the reality of what he'd almost done was suddenly hitting him. He didn't know why it had taken so long for that to happen, but it had. Now, he was really feeling it. He'd been scared in the moment, but he was more than a little scared of the fact that he'd almost killed himself. There was no coming back from that. If he had actually pulled the trigger, his life would have been over.

Now, more than a little uncomfortable, he closed the book and began a slow pace, back and forth across the floor.

The problem he had now was this strange dichotomy of not wanting to deal with everything but feeling afraid of the fact that he'd almost got to the point where he couldn't have dealt with _anything_ ever again. He hadn't yet figured out how to navigate between those two contradictory feelings.

After a while, there was a knock on the door. Tim stopped his pacing and walked warily to the door, uncertain of who would be coming. If he didn't know who it was, he didn't open it.

It was Tony.

Tim opened the door.

"Shouldn't you be working?" he asked.

Tony smiled. "Actually, I'm taking a few days off."

"You are? Why? What's Gibbs doing without either of us there?"

"Not much," Tony said. "He's taking a few days off, too. But he's drinking coffee again. It's cold, but it's coffee."

Tim found he could smile at that.

"So...what are you doing here, then?" he asked.

"Actually, I was coming to see if you wanted to go out and get lunch or something. I know it's a little later. I couldn't decide if I should come or not and by the time I decided, it was after one."

Tim thought about it for a few seconds and then shrugged.

"Okay. I haven't eaten lunch yet, either."

"Great! Get your stuff and let's go!"

Tony seemed just a little too enthusiastic for it to be genuine, but Tim was glad to have the distraction and he felt safe enough being outside _with_ someone. So he got his wallet and his jacket and followed Tony out to his car.

"Any preferences?" Tony asked.

"Nowhere very noisy. Otherwise... I don't care."

"You sure about that?"

Tim raised an eyebrow. "Tony, not caring where I eat lunch is not a suicidal tendency."

"That wasn't why I was asking," Tony said, a little tensely.

"Look, I told you the one thing I care about. I don't want to go to a crowded, noisy place. Otherwise, I really don't care!"

There was a tense silence for a few minutes. Tim was about to say that they didn't need to get lunch at all. Tony didn't look happy about the situation and the last thing Tim wanted was for someone to be miserable because of him. _Really_ because of him.

Then, Tony said. "Sorry, Tim. I really wasn't asking because I was thinking you were... going to do that again."

Tim found it interesting that Tony didn't like even saying the word, as if saying _suicide_ would somehow make Tim do it again.

"Then, why did you?"

"Because I thought you might be afraid to give an opinion because you felt guilty."

"Oh." Tim laughed a little. "No. Not this time."

Tony smiled. "Okay. Then, how do you feel about Thai?"

"Sure."

"Okay."

Tony took a breath and continued driving. He found stopped at a Thai place that was a few steps above the fast food version and so wasn't quite as busy during the late lunch hour. It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner.

They got a table and started looking at menus. Tim hadn't had Thai food very often so he used that as an excuse for not making much conversation. He could sense that Tony wanted to talk about serious stuff, but he wasn't sure he was ready for that.

"Want to get an appetizer?" Tony asked.

"Sure. Spring rolls?" Tim suggested.

"Sounds good to me."

The waitress took their drink orders (water) and the appetizers and then Tim went back to looking at the menu. He thought about trying something he'd never had before, but in the end, he just decided to get pad thai. It was something he knew he'd enjoy.

"What are you going to get?" Tony asked.

"Pad thai," Tim said.

"No sense of adventure, huh."

"Nope. Not today. What are _you_ getting?"

"Lad na. With beef."

"Never had it."

"Me neither."

When the waitress came back with their spring rolls, they ordered their meals and then sat with a little bit of tense awkwardness.

"Why did you take time off, Tony?" Tim asked. "You talked around it before, but I'm surprised that you are."

"You're saying I can't?" Tony asked, smiling a little.

But the smile was false and Tim could see it very easily.

"I'm not and you know it. Why?"

"Well... you're not the only one who needed a break from the whole serial killer thing. Balboa persuaded me to take some time off and I think it's good for all of us to have a break."

"So it wasn't about me?" Tim asked.

"Not everything is about you, Tim," Tony said.

Tim smiled. "I know, but way too much _has_ been lately. For lots of reasons."

"Agreed."

"So?" Tim asked.

"Well, some of it."

Then, their food came and there was a pause as they organized their dishes and started eating.

To Tim's surprise, Tony was the one who continued the conversation.

"Tim, I don't think I can forget how it felt seeing you ready to... to do that."

"Kill myself, Tony. Just say it. You saw me attempting suicide. Not saying the words doesn't change anything."

"I _know_ that," Tony said and there was a little bit of irritation.

"Tony, no one can change what I did. What I _almost_ did. That's going to be something I have to live with."

"Not just you."

Tim nodded and sighed. "I know."

"And it's not just about when you..." Tony paused and then looked at Tim and said the words in a rush, as if he was just getting them over with. "...when you almost killed yourself. It's about when Jones almost killed you, about how you almost lost it because you thought I was dead."

"Not almost. I did lose it."

"Why, Tim?"

Tim put down his fork and stared at the noodles on his plate.

"Don't say that it wouldn't have been my fault if the Wordsmith really had killed you. Don't you see, Tony? That's meaningless." Tim looked up. "A phobia is irrational and extreme. All the other things aside, what he did was figure out what scares me more than anything ever could."

"That's it's your fault," Tony said, quietly.

Tim nodded.

"And it doesn't matter that people say it's not true. Just like it wouldn't matter if I was terrified of spiders and people told me that most spiders won't hurt me, that spiders are useful or anything else. It's a fear. It's irrational. It doesn't matter what reality is," Tim said, feeling that same desire to panic well up inside him. It was more easily controlled now but it wasn't gone.

"It does matter what reality is, Tim," Tony said.

"Not to me. Not yet."

"So you're not ready to come back, then?"

"No. Not even close. Do you really think I should come back at all?"

"What? Why wouldn't you?"

"I broke, Tony. I completely fell apart. I let a criminal get to me, and that just made the case harder to solve than it would have been. You had to spend way too much time worrying about me when it could have just been about him. And now, you're trying to deal with the fallout, just like I am. And that _is_ my fault. If I'd been a little more stealthy..." He laughed a little and looked back at his plate.

"No, Tim. That wouldn't have made things better, not for any of us," Tony said, seriously. "Yeah, it's been hard, but I'm in a much better state because I could talk you down than I would have been if I just had to find your body instead. _That_ would never have been better."

Another awkward silence.

"If you don't want to come back, then, I'll think it sucks but I get it. If you do, though, we all want to see you back at your desk. We want to see you doing your computer geek thing. Tim, we all want to see you back to normal. So yes, you should come back, but only if you want to." He paused. "Do you?"

Tim smiled weakly. If only Tony knew how complicated that question was for him right now.

"Do you, Tim?"

"I don't know. Right now, just getting through the day feeling relatively normal is a major accomplishment. I really am feeling better a lot of the time, but...sometimes, it's just still too much. That's why I'm still staying with Ducky. I thought about going back to my place, but I decided I couldn't handle it. What if I never can?"

"You can. Or if you can't now, you'll be able to. You didn't kill yourself, Tim. You fought back. You can keep fighting, especially when it's just against your own mind. You'll win."

Tim raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not sure that follows, Tony."

"Sure, it does!" Tony said.

Tim really found it almost amusing how encouraging Tony was trying to be. It almost rang false, but there was a vein of desperation that he just couldn't dismiss. He knew that Tony really wanted him to get back to normal, and he felt like he had to try, but what if he failed?

"Tell me why fighting against myself is better."

"Because you want yourself to win!"

Tim smiled a little. He wasn't sure of that.

"Don't you?"

"I don't know. Do I?"

Tony's brow furrowed.

"Well, you _should_. Why would you want yourself to lose?"

Tim shrugged and picked up his fork. He started eating again without answering.

"Tim... why?"

Tim shoved a large forkful into his mouth so he couldn't answer. Silence fell again. Tim took a few more bites without looking up. Then, he chanced glancing at Tony. Tony was sitting there, his eyebrow raised.

"You can't put me off forever, Tim," he said and smiled slightly although his expression was still serious. "You'll run out of food eventually. And I'm not going to ignore things again."

Tim swallowed and nodded.

"I don't know, Tony. I don't know if I want myself to win. There's a part of me that still doesn't believe I deserve it. There's a part that... Tony, I still feel like this was my fault, like it was some kind of weakness in me that made all this possible. If I'd been stronger, if I'd figured things out faster with Ahrendson. If I'd been able to resist all the stupid... If I could have not been so affected by what... he did. He's the Wordsmith. He's not Jones. He's not a man. He's a monster."

Then, he looked back down at his plate and stuffed another large forkful of noodles into his mouth. The silence descended again. This time, Tony ate more, too. In fact, they finished eating, Tony picked up the check and then they left the restaurant, still without speaking much. They got into the car and Tony drove them, not back to Ducky's place, but over to the Georgetown Waterfront Park. Then, he parked and they got out, still mostly in silence. They started walking along the river.

After a while, they both stopped and looked out at the water.

"Tim... you're not trying to hide this from Dr. Saunders, are you?"

"No."

"Do you know that what you're thinking is really, _really_ stupid?"

Tim laughed. "Yeah. I'm aware of that."

"And I'm not saying that _you're_ stupid, so don't even think that."

Tim smiled.

"But there's a reason I'm refusing to use the title he gave himself. He's not a monster. He was just a twisted man. His name was Elijah Jones. He was a librarian, for crying out loud. He's not a monster. He's human and he just decided to try and break you any way he could." Tony sounded angry, but Tim didn't look away from the water.

"He succeeded."

"Only temporarily. I told you before. I'm not letting you not make it. You're going to be fine again, Tim. You're going to make it through this. I don't care how long it takes. You just have to take the time. No giving up. You hear me?"

"What if this happens again, Tony?"

"Next time, you'll know better."

Tim smiled, but he appreciated that Tony wasn't saying that it would never happen again. Even if it was true (and Tim could admit that it was more likely than his having to deal with yet another serial killer), it didn't really help.

"I just can't be so confident right now."

"Fine. But you will be."

Tim was quiet.

"Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"I want you to say it."

"To say what?"

"That you will be okay. I know you're not right now, but you will be. Say it."

Tim felt his brow furrow in confusion and he turned to look at Tony.

"Why?"

"Just say it."

"Why, Tony?"

Tony rolled his eyes.

"Say it, Tim!"

"Fine. I will be."

Tony grinned. "Good. Now, I know you will."

"Huh? Because I said what you wanted me to say?"

"Because you wouldn't have been willing to say it if you didn't think it was possible."

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yep," Tony said, nodding firmly. "Positive."

"So now what?" Tim asked.

"Now, you work on getting better so that I can throw you a party."

"I don't need a party, Tony."

"Yeah, you do, but I get it if you don't want one yet. You will."

"Tony, I never party."

"Tim, I'm not talking about going clubbing. I know you don't do that. I'm talking about celebrating the fact that..." And suddenly things got serious again. "...that my friend recovered from being attacked by someone who tried to destroy him. _That_ deserves a celebration. I just am willing to wait until you're ready for it."

"That's got to be a first," Tim said, trying to lighten it up again.

"Everyone can learn. Even you."

"What am I supposed to be learning, Tony?"

"That you're not perfect _and_ that not being perfect does not equal failure. Everyone makes mistakes, everyone has things they can't handle. But you seem to think that you have to handle it or else be a failure. You didn't need to with Ahrendson. You didn't need to with Jones. So now, you just need to accept that and not feel like you've somehow failed simply because you couldn't be stoic about a serial killer. And needing help isn't shameful."

"You're not exactly the best person to be teaching that, Tony," Tim said.

"I know. That's why it took Balboa lecturing me to get me to take some time off. It was so unexpected that I listened."

Tim turned and started walking back toward the car. Tony walked alongside.

"How long do I get?"

"However long you need," Tony said, instantly. "But I hope you're coming back."

Tim had already expressed his ambivalence once, he didn't need to do it again. It was there, and they both knew it.

They got back to the car.

"And Tim?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be afraid to get things wrong," Tony said. "How else can you learn if you don't mess up once in a while? We're still here."

Tim nodded and they both got into the car. Then, Tony drove Tim back to Ducky's place. Tim walked back inside, back to the study and he sat down. Then, he picked up the book of poetry and began to flip through it.

That's where he was for the next few hours.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ducky came home, hoping that nothing new would have gone wrong in his absence. He knew that, at some point, they would all have to move on, have to accept Tim's healing. But that time was not yet.

He walked into the house and felt the silence. It was heavy but not foreboding.

"Timothy?"

"In the study."

Ducky walked into the study and saw Tim sitting with a book in his lap, staring pensively out the window.

"What have you been reading?" Ducky asked.

"Poetry," Tim said.

"What do you have there?"

"I read this one an hour ago. I've been thinking about it," Tim said.

"What is it?"

Tim looked away from the window and down at his lap. The poem he read was very short.

"All but Death, can be Adjusted—  
Dynasties repaired—  
Systems—settled in their Sockets—  
Citadels—dissolved—

Wastes of Lives—resown with Colors  
By Succeeding Springs—  
Death—unto itself—Exception—  
Is exempt from Change—"

"Ah, Emily Dickinson," Ducky said, cautious about this topic. It was understandable that death, in general, would be on Tim's mind given his own actions and his near death at Jones' hands. Still, an obsession with death could be an indication of a mind more unsettled than was healthy.

Tim nodded.

"Death is exempt from change," Tim said. "Once you die...even if you believe there's more... You can't change that."

"Very true. It is a decision you can't take back."

Tim nodded again.

"I've been reading poems about death and it's interesting how people look at it. How many different ways there are of discussing the topic. But in real life... we don't like talking about death. We avoid it. And when it comes to suicide... I had to force Tony to even say the word. I keep coming back to this one, though. All but death can be adjusted."

Then, Tim closed the book and looked at Ducky.

"I almost did that. To myself."

"Yes," Ducky said.

"And it's scary, Ducky. It's scary to know that I could have done it. I almost did. Even now, when I still feel unsettled and unsure... I don't feel the same as I did that day."

"Good."

Tim still seemed disquieted, but he was speaking about his experience and about his feelings, even if it was through the medium of poetry. Ducky was willing to meet him on that level.

"Perhaps, Timothy, instead of focusing on that, you should think of something else."

"What?"

"Longfellow. He's a bit more wordy than Dickinson, but it doesn't change the power of his words."

"What about him?" Tim asked.

Ducky smiled and began to recite one of his favorite poems from memory. As he did, he hoped that Tim felt the call of the poem, the power of Longfellow's words. So much of it fit with what Tim could achieve if he could allow himself to fully live again.

"Tell me not, in mournful numbers,  
Life is but an empty dream!  
For the soul is dead that slumbers,  
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!  
And the grave is not its goal;  
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,  
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,  
Is our destined end or way;  
But to act, that each to-morrow  
Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,  
And our hearts, though stout and brave,  
Still, like muffled drums, are beating  
Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,  
In the bivouac of Life,  
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!  
Be a hero in the strife!

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!  
Let the dead Past bury its dead!  
Act,— act in the living Present!  
Heart within, and God o'erhead!

Lives of great men all remind us  
We can make our lives sublime,  
And, departing, leave behind us  
Footprints on the sands of time;"

Ducky paused in his recitation and put his hand on Tim's shoulder. Tim was not looking at him, choosing instead to look out the window, but Ducky could tell that he was listening. So he continued, but a little more slowly, trying to help Tim hear what he was saying.

"Footprints, that perhaps another,  
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,  
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,  
Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,  
With a heart for any fate;  
Still achieving, still pursuing,  
Learn to labor and to wait."

Tim didn't respond, although his eyes glistened a little.

"I'm glad that I don't have to say, along with Charlotte Bronte, that death has called the best away in this case. However, Timothy, you have the chance to, as she says later, to embrace hope."

To his surprise, Tim looked down at the book again and flipped through the pages. Then, he read the end of the poem Ducky had referenced, his voice very soft, almost a whisper.

"Yet hope again elastic springs,  
Unconquered, though she fell;  
Still buoyant are her golden wings,  
Still strong to bear us well.  
Manfully, fearlessly,  
The day of trial bear,  
For gloriously, victoriously,  
Can courage quell despair!"

"Precisely."

"I want to feel that way again, Ducky," Tim said after a long silence.

Ducky put an arm around Tim's shoulders and squeezed him. "You can, lad. You really can. Just keep up the fight and know that we are all here to help you. Don't be afraid. You're not alone."

Then, a few tears escaped Tim's eyes.

"Thanks," he said.

"Anytime, Timothy. Anytime at all."


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

_Two months later..._

Tim stared up at the building for a few seconds and then squared his shoulders. Deciding to come back here was almost as much about demonstrating his healing as it was that he wanted to come back at all. Even at that, they were being cautious. Tim was on desk duty for an indefinite period while he got back into the flow of things and figured out whether or not he could handle it.

If he was honest, while he was a bit hesitant, a bit worried about going back to work, he knew that how he felt now was like night and day to that very dark moment that had almost led to his ending his own life.

Finally, Tim took a deep breath and stepped inside.

"Agent McGee!"

Tim was startled by Henry's enthusiastic greeting. The old security guard actually came out from behind his desk and hugged him.

"Good morning, Henry," he said, a little uncertainly.

Henry slapped him good-naturedly on the arm.

"Hasn't been the same without you, Agent McGee. Never been happier to let someone in the building."

"Oh, come on," Tim said, smiling. "That's laying it on more than a little thick, don't you think?"

Henry grinned widely. "No. I might have been _as_ happy to let others in, but I've never been happier. Glad to have you back."

Tim chuckled.

"Thanks, Henry."

"Now, you get in there and get to work."

"Hey, I'm here early as it is."

"Your mistake."

"Did I beat Gibbs?"

"Think so."

"Good," Tim said.

He got on the elevator and rode it up to the bullpen. He had a meeting with Vance and with an EAP counselor to help him get back into the job as smoothly as possible. He had resisted using the Employee Assistance Program, saying that he could do it without that extra help. He already had a therapist, after all, but Vance had insisted and so he had given in.

Tim would be busy today, but he had some time, just to sit alone in the bullpen. He'd been back in his own apartment for a month now and while there had been some bad moments, he'd readjusted to being allowed to be alone again. He spent more time socializing than he really had for a long time, but he had found that, in the evenings, people would just _happen_ to be in the neighborhood and they'd drag him out to do something. He knew why, and he was learning to appreciate the effort they were making. However, sometimes, he had to insist that he really didn't want to be in company. He had to explain that he enjoyed being alone sometimes, that it wasn't an indication of anything but that he was tired of having to make conversation.

As Dr. Saunders had cautioned him, he'd had to learn to be patient, both with himself and with his friends. As he'd recovered, there had been some overcompensation for how bad things had been. Jensen had been one overdoing it. He'd told Tim about his name being on Ahrendson's list and how deeply it had hit him, just how close he had come to meeting the same fate as too many others had. Interestingly enough, Torrance had _not_ been one who had overdone anything. In spite of her sometimes aggressively upbeat personality, her approach to Tim's recovery had been just about perfect.

Ducky, Abby and Jimmy had all been pretty good about it. Abby would cling to him a bit too much when they got together, but since she was so huggy anyway, it didn't bother Tim so much as it might have otherwise. Jimmy had proved surprisingly perceptive when it came to noticing when Tim was ready to have any visit be over and it had been a boon to have him along. It had become nearly a pattern for Ducky to invite Tim to join him for a Sunday dinner. Sometimes, the others would be invited as well, but often, it seemed like a way for Ducky to discretely touch base with Tim and make sure things were going all right.

The most difficult place to regain that balance had been with his own team. Gibbs had been more on edge when talking to Tim than he had before, and Tim hoped that it wouldn't carry over into work. It had only been in the last two weeks that he had let Tim open his own mail without giving him grief about it. Tony still had times when he was clearly afraid of Tim falling back into that dark space. Tim had lost his temper a few times (and always felt bad about it afterward), but even there, things were getting better. Again, with this return to work, Tim hoped that it would help them all get back to normal. Whatever that might mean.

At this point, Tim could admit that he still wasn't perfect but he could also admit that he felt pretty good. In this stressful environment, he had no idea whether or not it would be too much for him now, but he was fully prepared to find out.

As if he'd known just when Tim was done with his solitary reflections, the elevator dinged open and Gibbs came out, coffee cup in hand.

He paused when he saw Tim sitting at his desk. Then, he continued to his desk, almost like normal. He sat down, put down his cup and looked at his computer for a moment. Then, he looked at Tim.

"Good morning, Boss."

"You ready?"

"Well, I have to do a lot of meetings today. I don't know how useful I'm going to be."

The elevator dinged again.

"Tim! You're back!"

Tim smiled and looked over at Tony.

"I told you I was."

"I didn't believe you. I figured you were just trying to get me off your back."

"Lying wouldn't work," Tim said. "We've already proven beyond any doubt that nothing gets you off my back."

Tony grinned.

"Good thing, too."

"Most of the time, I can agree with you."

"I'll take that." Then, Tony looked at Gibbs and his coffee cup. "So...how hot is the coffee today, Boss?"

Gibbs glared at him, but there wasn't much irritation behind the glare.

"Lukewarm," he said.

"Still the cold-brewed?"

"Yeah."

"You like it, don't you," Tony said, grinning.

Gibbs just grunted.

"Well, some of us have work to do," Tony said, as if the conversation hadn't even happened. "I'll go down and see if Abby got any results yet, Boss."

"And tell her I'm here?" Tim asked.

"Of course! She'll love me for at least a week just because I was the one who said it."

"Make sure you tell her I have meetings, too. I might not be at my desk."

"Will do."

Then, Tony put down his stuff and headed for the elevator. Tim looked at the time and saw that the first of his meetings would be starting soon. He suppressed a grimace. He had never particularly liked being the center of attention and this wasn't even going to be _good_ attention.

"I have to meet with Vance," Tim said and stood up.

"Tim?"

Tim paused. "Yeah, Boss?"

Gibbs gestured toward Tony's desk.

"You being here is useful. Doesn't matter what you're doing."

Tim smiled and nodded.

Then, Gibbs smiled slightly. "Don't get used to that."

"I wouldn't even _want_ to, Boss," Tim said.

"I know."

Then, Tim ran up the stairs to Vance's office for his first meeting. All day, Tim's time in the bullpen was punctuated with meetings and greetings, such as Abby nearly smothering him when she had a chance to come up and see him. He had almost no time to do any actual work and he felt like the entire building stopped by his desk at least once during the day to welcome him back. While he appreciated the sentiments, he did hope that this was a one-off deal where things could ease back into the usual casual greetings instead of these times when people were deliberately seeking him out.

At the end of the day, Tim was surprisingly alone for a brief shining moment. Well, he was alone except for Gibbs who was just at his desk working.

"You can get going, Tim," Gibbs said, without looking up. "Get a real start tomorrow."

"Okay."

Tim grabbed his bag and headed for the elevator.

"Glad to have you back, Tim."

Tim looked back at Gibbs.

"Thanks, Boss."

Then, he got on the elevator and rode it down, got an enthusiastic farewell from Henry and left the building.

Just as Balboa and his team were arriving.

"Hey, done for the day, McGee?" Jensen asked.

"Hardly did anything, but yeah," Tim said.

"How was your first day back?" Balboa asked.

"Not really a day. Just a lot of meetings and people coming to say hi."

"Except for the meetings, that sounds like a perfect day," Torrance said. "I can't believe you didn't enjoy it."

"Well, there were the meetings."

Torrance just smiled. She and Jensen headed inside, although Jensen paused for a moment.

"I'm glad you came back, Tim. Wouldn't be the same without you on the other side of the dividers," he said.

"Thanks, Will."

Balboa lingered for a moment after Jensen and Torrance went in.

"This won't last, you know," he said.

"I sure hope not," Tim said.

"I know. You looked a little uncomfortable around the time that all of Legal came down to welcome you back."

"Only then?" Tim asked, half smiling, half grimacing. "I was feeling it a long time before that."

"Well, you weren't showing it."

"I guess that's good."

"Things like suicide don't seem completely real until you know someone or until you've gone through it yourself," Balboa said. "Once they really adjust to it, things will be mostly normal."

"Only mostly?"

"It can't ever be just like it was, Tim," Balboa said. "Big things cause change."

"Yeah."

"Has Tony thrown you a party yet?"

"No, but he's already threatened. He just said that I could pick the time when it happened."

"If you don't mind a suggestion, you should let him get it out of his system."

Tim laughed a little. "I know. I was just hoping that he'd forget about it or else he could just celebrate something else."

"I don't think that'll happen."

"Yeah."

"Let him do that for you. ...and don't be afraid of celebrating yourself."

Then, Balboa went inside, leaving Tim out on the sidewalk. Instead of going to his car, he walked over to Willard Park and sat down on a bench, facing the Anacostia.

This had been a long day, and in spite of the fact that he hadn't really done anything, he felt tired.

"Can I do this?" Tim whispered. He really was hoping so, but he just wasn't sure. The EAP counselor had recommended that he take it slowly since his problems had originated at his work, he could still subconsciously (or consciously) associate his job with his suicide and it was better to be honest about his problems without forcing himself or anyone else to focus on them than it would be to hide them.

A soft thump on his back startled him out of his thoughts.

"Not going home yet?"

Tony sat down beside him.

"Just evaluating how the day went," Tim said.

"And?"

"And...I'm tired."

"It'll get easier. Heck, you had Abby hanging around your neck for half the day. That would exhaust anyone."

Tim smiled, but his heart wasn't in it right now.

"Yeah, it would."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. I just... I don't know why I expected everything to be normal when I haven't been here for four months and the reason I was gone was because I almost killed myself and almost _got_ killed by someone else. I just... hoped it would be normal."

"That's asking a bit much, you know."

"I know."

"As long as you know."

"I do."

"Good. It will get easier."

"I hope so."

"It will. See you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

Tony got up and started to walk away. Tim sat there, staring at the river for a few seconds and then, suddenly, he thought of something he hadn't yet said. He stood up and turned around.

"Tony?"

"Yeah?" Tony turned around.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For stopping me. I just realized I never did. In the beginning wasn't sure I was glad that you had, but now... Now, I'm glad I didn't go through with it. You stopped me from making a... a fatal mistake. Thank you."

Tony smiled. "You're welcome."

"...and if you promise it won't be too big, you can throw me a party."

Tony's smiled widened to a grin that was almost like his normal one.

"You don't know what you're getting into."

"I think I do. But remember, not too big."

"Ha. Famous last words."

Tony started to leave, but then, he stopped.

"You want to get something for dinner now? Start planning?"

"How much planning does this party need?"

Tony's grin was now positively toothy.

"You won't know until you see it. This is your only chance to have some input."

Tim felt more like smiling than he had in a long time.

"I guess I have no other choice."

"Then, come on!"

Tim picked up his bag and walked with Tony to Tony's car.

There were worse ways to end the day.

FINIS!

_Life  
_ _by Charlotte Bronte_

_Life, believe, is not a dream  
_ _So dark as sages say;  
_ _Oft a little morning rain  
_ _Foretells a pleasant day.  
_ _Sometimes there are clouds of gloom,  
_ _But these are transient all;  
_ _If the shower will make the roses bloom,  
_ _O why lament its fall?  
_ _Rapidly, merrily,  
_ _Life's sunny hours flit by,  
_ _Gratefully, cheerily  
_ _Enjoy them as they fly!  
_ _What though Death at times steps in,  
_ _And calls our Best away?  
_ _What though sorrow seems to win,  
_ _O'er hope, a heavy sway?  
_ _Yet Hope again elastic springs,  
_ _Unconquered, though she fell;  
_ _Still buoyant are her golden wings,  
_ _Still strong to bear us well.  
_ _Manfully, fearlessly,  
_ _The day of trial bear,  
_ _For gloriously, victoriously,  
_ _Can courage quell despair!_


End file.
